Harry Potter and the Necklace of Menat
by sybill tres-looney
Summary: Harry has been in love with Ginny for ages but has never found the opportunity to tell her so. And when he thought he had lost her forever, he left England to escape from his sorrows but fate has a way of reeling him in back to England.
1. Chapter 1

HARRY POTTER AND THE NECKLACE OF MENAT

Chapter 01

Streaming through large windows as if daylight could reach a structure so deep beneath London's underground, rays of light crept in slanted beams along the deserted Atrium of the Ministry of Magic, delineating its form. A lone set of footsteps echoed in the cavernous hall as twenty-three year old Auror Harry Potter strode purposefully towards the lifts that would take him up to the Minister's office for their regular weekend meeting.

A slight movement where the Fountain of Magical Brethren had once stood made him glance towards the area. Gone was the grotesque abomination the Voldemort regime had installed in its place; rather, an elaborate moving silver structure now served to welcome the people walking through these halls. The sculpture was stretching and shaking itself awake, making a tinkling sound as it did. From a distance it looked like a glistening metallic tree, but up close, one could see that the entire structure was bedecked with thousands upon thousands of small varied jewels, jewels representing the lives — both magic and Muggle — that were lost in the last war.

As always, whenever Harry passed by the sculpture, he was reminded of the night he sneaked in his godson Teddy Lupin to see the silver tree. They had been to the Burrow earlier that day with Andromeda and Hermione for Christmas lunch. Naturally, all the Weasleys were there, including Bill and his family. Teddy had his Grandma and he had Harry, but it was the first time he'd noticed the interaction between Victoire and her maman Fleur: Fleur wiping her daughter's face clean, Fleur hoisting her daughter up against her waist so they could wash Victoire's hands under the tap, Fleur kneeling down to look at Victoire's bruised finger and kiss the hurt away, Fleur bending down to kiss her daughter's head as she passed by the children while they played on the floor of the Burrow's sitting room.

Upon returning to the Tonks' home, Teddy headed straight to the bookshelf in the living room where they kept the family photo albums. Then he and Harry looked over the moving pictures of Remus and Tonks anew. Teddy had stared for a long time at his mother's heart-shaped face as if it was the first time he was seeing the pictures and from time to time would point to Tonks' face in the pictures and turn his head towards Harry and say _Mama? Mama?_ Later that evening, when Teddy showed no signs of settling down for the night, Harry decided to bring him to the Ministry.

As it was the holidays, Harry had found the tree standing still and silent. But with a slight wave of his hand, Harry had treated his then three year old godson to something no one had ever seen before. The tree began to whir and gyrate, virtually performing a ballet, its thousand variegated jewels capturing and reflecting light from the blazing torches on the Atrium's walls and the lighted windows overhead. As it did, it made a musical symphony as if a million bells were ringing. Teddy Lupin was completely mesmerized, and only occasionally turned his face up to Harry as if to confirm that what they were seeing was real. They both gazed at the silver tree for a long time that night, seated on a chair conjured by Harry - Teddy strangely quiet - until finally, the boy fell asleep in his godfather's arms.

By all rights the Ministry should have been empty this early Saturday morning, except, of course, for a few key offices, yet already a gaggle of witches stood hanging back by the lifts, hoping to catch Harry's eye. But for all the notice Harry was giving them, they might as well have been Disillusioned. Besides, Harry was not so egotistical as to assume that the women were there because of him.

As it were, he was completely oblivious to how much his appearance was driving the women around him crazy. Since Harry's job would sometimes take him to the Muggle world, he found it best to just wear Muggle clothing, often all in black, but with dragon-hide boots, so as to save him the trouble of transfiguring his clothes. The trench coat was rather convenient in hiding his phoenix-wand and was a good compromise to wizarding robes.

Much speculation had been made about Harry's preferred get-up. People say that the reason Harry wore black all the time was because he was still mourning the losses of the last war. But the real reason could not have been more mundane: it was a style he had adopted out of practicality and necessity. Given the nature of his job, it was near impossible to keep his clothes clean by the end of the day. He just didn't want to give Kreacher, his aging house-elf, any more work than he had to.

But the younger generation of witches and wizards, enamored still of the Harry Potter mystique, quickly adopted the fashion and was soon on its way to supplanting the traditional robes worn in the wizarding world. Even most of his colleagues at the Auror Division had quickly adopted the look as well.

After the war, the newly installed government of Kingsley Shacklebolt had been hard put to set things to order. There were innocent prisoners to be released, missing people to be found, captured Death Eaters to be sorted, not to mention the numerous Voldemortian laws and policies to be repealed. Reliable Ministry employees had to put in double hours in desperate attempts to wield the workload into manageability. Yet still, there had been a lot left to do. Then Kingsley had asked Harry to come in to help suss out the real from the Imperiused Death Eaters. From there it had been but a short step and a skip in Harry joining the Auror Department.

But the work ethic that both Kingsley and Harry had adherred to out of necessity in those early days evolved to become a routine. And, if the Ministry's head honcho and the country's - no, the world's - top Auror and the savior of the wizarding world were both working on Saturdays, then, by Merlin, the rest of the Ministry employees would report for work on Saturdays as well. Of course it was inevitable that this level of enthusiasm would wane over the years and now, only the Ministry Department Heads, the relevant support staff, and some Ministry employees (mainly single witches) still kept up with Harry's six-day working week.

When Harry arrived at Kingsley's office, the room was already full of people, mainly Department Heads from the Ministry, including Harry's immediate superior, Dick Pendrill, the post-war Head of Auror. Harry nodded his greeting to the men and headed straight to his appointed seat near Kingsley's desk.

Harry was not late for the meeting, of course; rather, these Ministry officials chose to be early. These meetings were the offshoot of all-nighters Harry and Kingsley used to pull after the war discussing problems and issues at hand, all-nighters that eventually morphed into these regular Saturday morning powwows attended by other Department Heads.

"Harry," opened Kingsley, "we were just talking about you."

Harry thought he knew what it was about. Yesterday had been the last day of The International Confederation of Wizards caucus in Denmark and the issues discussed relevant to England ran more or less along the same lines, but Harry waited for Kingsley to continue.

"As you might have heard, the Greek government has formally requested your assistance in a problem they're currently having with a Teumessian fox," Kingsley said in his low, authoritarian voice.

Harry wrinkled his forehead, struggling to remember what he knew of the creature from Hagrid's class. "The giant fox?" Harry asked in surprise. "But I thought it had already been caught and turned to stone?"

"And been cast into the heavens," an elderly wizard who sat nearest the door put in.

Bits of what he knew about the creature bubbled to the surface of Harry's mind. How could he not remember the Teumessian fox? The moment Hagrid had mentioned the creature in his class, Harry and Ron exchanged amused glances thinking the same thing: it would be another one of those creatures they knew Hagrid would love to keep as a pet - until they got to the part of what the animal fed on: children. Destined to never be caught, if it were true that it was roaming the Greek countryside again, then the Greeks truly were in trouble.

"The Greek Ministry of Magic have already removed the Muggles from the area by making it appear that a dormant volcano is acting up again and would soon erupt," continued Kingsley. "But many more remain. And the Greek wizards have no other place to go, as the rest of the country is already overflowing with Muggles, not to mention the tourists who regularly visit their lands. So you see Harry the enormous dilemma the Greek wizards are currently in right now."

"But why is it plaguing Greece now?," Harry furrowed his forehead. "Wasn't it Di-we* who helped the ancient Greeks get rid of the animal? He was supposed to be one of the most powerful wizards of all time. How could his spell been broken?"

"I'm afraid we don't have the answer to that question."

"If I may, Minister," interjected Charles Wickham, current head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. "but a month ago the Muggles have discovered an anomalous cold spot in the Eridanus constellation which, as we all know, is in very close proximity to the Lepus constellation where the Teumessian fox had been banished. There is thus an international consensus that it must have been the cause of the return of the blighted creature."

"A cold spot?" Kingsley turned to him, raising an eyebrow.

"The Muggles call it a Supervoid, a vast expanse of the universe a billion light years in diameter. It was supposed to be completely devoid of stars, or even dark matter. The Muggles could not account for it based on their standard cosmology." Wickham smiled wryly. "But then again, neither would they be able to account for magic, if they knew it exists."

"But, is it a cause of concern for us?"

Wickham adopted a more serious expression. "We do not know, Minister. But we may already be suffering from an effect of it. Or at least the Greeks are."

Kingsley leaned back on his chair and looked out the window, contemplating. After a while, he turned back to the others. "I'll set the Unspeakables to work on it."

"And the request of the Greek government, Minister?" another head, from the Department of the International Magical Cooperation, piped up.

Kingsley looked expectantly back at Harry.

"But what can I do?" said Harry. "Wouldn't it be better if we send Hagrid to them instead? Looks to me like it's more his area of expertise than mine."

The other men chuckled while Kingsley bent his head down to hide a grin. Dick Pendrill waited for the laughter to die down before he spoke up.

"We may have difficulty sending Potter over there, Minister. We've already loaned two of our top Aurors to the International Aurors Office just to appease other countries' demands that we send Harry to them."

The air thickened with resentment. It had been a thorn on the British Wizarding's side that other nations kept demanding for Britain to send Harry to deal with their own domestic problems. They were rather begrudging of Harry and didn't want to share him with the rest of the Wizarding world. There was no chance in hell that Wizarding Britain would let go of their beloved hero.

Kingsley turned to Harry once again. "Are you working on a new case right now, Harry?"

"No, we've wrapped up the case of that Armenian wizard kidnapping Muggle women." Believing it would increase his magic, the suspect had skinned alive and ate at least seventeen women before he was apprehended. There was no need to mention that it was Harry who solved the case entirely on his own and succeeded in bringing the suspect down as the latter viciously cast the darkest of curses against Harry and his team when they came to arrest him.

Kingsley carefully considered Harry's face which gave nothing away. The minister inwardly sighed, knowing that the decision was being laid upon his feet. "It's up to you, Harry. It has to be your choice."

Harry thought for a moment. He had no idea how to deal with the beast but the fact that it was feeding on children acutely preyed on his mind. Neither could it be denied that Harry had performed feats of magic no one ever thought possible. If anyone could help the Greeks, it would be Harry.

"I'll think about it," Harry finally said. And the group went on to discuss other issues.

~•~

*Zeus to Muggles


	2. Chapter 2

Harry Potter and the Necklace of Menat

Chapter 02

After the meeting with the Ministers, Harry headed directly to the Auror department, hoping to discuss with Ron the possibility of his best mate holding fort for a while. He was a bit apprehensive about leaving Ron. Ever since Ron joined him in the Auror department, the two of them had partnered together in every case they had worked on. But Harry couldn't bring Ron with him - it would seriously cripple the department. He would have to sound out both Ron and Hermione on the idea first before he made a decision.

When Harry reached the Auror office at the second level, he stopped by the secretaries' desks to talk to his and Ron's go-to secretary at the department. When Harry left Grimmauld place that morning, his friends were still asleep.

"Good morning, Liede, has Ron come in yet?" Harry asked the middle-aged witch, who, despite her large, square body and long black hair she kept perpetually in a tight bun somehow reminded him of Mrs. Weasley.

"Good morning, Mr. Potter. Sorry, but Mr. Weasley Flooed in earlier to say that he won't be coming in today and neither would Ms. Granger." A smile creased her face.

Harry inwardly groaned. _Here we go._

"And he asked me to inform you that they'll be Shielded for the remainder of the week, so, no Patronus," Liede added. "Guess they'll be incommunicado for a while."

A buzz of snickering rippled from the department employees who had heard their exchange but Harry kept his face impassive. He simply nodded his thanks to Liede, turned his back, and walked towards his office, his back ramrod straight. The snickering behind him broke out into open laughter, yet Harry gave no indication that he had heard. It was only when he reached the privacy of his own space, thrown his coat on a nearby rack, and sank down in his chair did he allow his shoulders to slump in exasperation.

Won't these people ever grow up? he thought, rubbing down his face.

Soon after the war, there had been a frenzied demand to dig up as much information on Harry as possible. Failing that, wizard reporters then turned their attention to those closest to him, even digging up a list of witches Bill had gone out with, to Fleur's extreme annoyance. Then Ron and Hermione had to choose that time to start acting up. And the wizarding paparazzi zeroed in on them like buzzards to a corpse.

After his best friends' return from Australia with Hermione's parents, it became obvious to Harry that the two had become intimate. At that time, he was in the middle of renovating Grimmauld Place so the three of them could live there comfortably. The few nights Hermione was able to steal time away to stay at Grimmauld's, Ron would conveniently stay the night as well. Harry was not a dense man and realized immediately what was happening. (Although it had to be said that Kreacher also made certain that Harry knew everything that went on inside his house) Harry was not at all surprised, not even at how quickly it happened. Neither did he resent his friends' intimacy, but had in fact been happy for them. His only concern was never to see the two at it.

The first year had not been a problem since Hermione spent most of that year at Hogwarts finishing her studies. But soon after Ron and Hermione joined Harry at the Ministry, something happened and the two started to shed their inhibitions. Harry could only ascribe it to the pressures of their jobs, especially Hermione who had applied herself to her work with the same intensity and fervor she did to her studies.

First came whispers of the two getting caught in the Ministry's broom cupboards, the loos, in Hermione's office, etc. etc. But they were only whispers, for no one - no one - in the Wizarding world would ever dare report the two to the higher-ups or give them a reprimand. No one, that is, except Harry. But by that time everyone in the wizarding world was already wise to Harry's rather forgiving nature: far be it from him to give his friends a brush down. Unfortunately, the lack of admonition seemed to have spurred the two even further. And then, like the proverbial deluge, stories and pictures of the two getting caught in rather compromising positions and in various places - mostly in the Muggle world - started flooding wizarding media. The two probably thought that no one would recognize them in the Muggle world and consequently had been more careless.

But Harry knew for a fact that Ron was not solely to blame for all of these high jinks. He was quite certain that, with her familiarity in the Muggle world, Hermione was equally to blame for instigating these numerous "disappearing acts". Harry could only reminisce with wistful nostalgia the once prim and proper lady Hermione used to be. As regards Ron, like his father, he had obviously discovered the joys the Muggle world had to offer, albeit in a totally non-innocent way.

Nevertheless, their antics had become legendary. The most infamous of which was when a Muggle couple caught them doing the deed in broad daylight right up a tree in the middle of Hyde Park. The Muggles, who happened to be retired university professors, claimed they had been taking a leisurely stroll along the park when they heard moaning and someone crying out "My knee! My knee!" (or was it 'my own knee'? The couple could not agree). Thinking someone was hurt, they immediately turned towards the direction of where they thought the sounds were coming from, which was up a nearby tree. Looking up, they saw two people naked from the waist up, having a go at each other quite oblivious to their surroundings. The Muggles couldn't see the faces of the amorous couple, but both agreed that the boy (for they hardly looked older than twenty) had red hair but all they could see of the girl was her bushy brown hair. The Muggles also claimed that, somehow, they could see nothing of the strangers' bodies from the waist down, only some sort of shimmering light as if sunlight was passing through the leaves and branches of the tree - which they thought rather strange. The elderly couple was shocked beyond belief: never had they imagined that they would be witness to such a spectacle, and at their age! They were so shocked that they hurriedly left the area and promptly ran into a park security personnel. But when the guard headed off to investigate the tree was empty and there was no sign at all of the amorous couple. By that time, the to-do had attracted quite a crowd and that was how the tabloid reporter came upon the incident. Naturally, it didn't take long for the Wizarding papers to pick up the story. And given what had been printed in the papers, the story was too plausible to be disbelieved and soon, it became the butt of jokes in the wizarding world.

One could only imagine the scandalous upshot of this escapade. Wizards everywhere started referring to the Magical Law Enforcement department as Smutten Row, in obvious reference to the Rotten Row section of the park. At work, Ron suffered no small amount of ribbing from acquaintances and colleagues, that, for some perverse reason, he seemed to rather enjoy. Muggleborns were heard either singing or whistling the lyrics of a nursery song "On my knees, and at my side, then behind me they will hide" which anthem the purebloods quickly adopted.

Hermione, thankfully, was too professionally competent for anyone to try and say anything within hearing distance of her. Besides, her knowledge of jinxes and hexes was so encyclopedic that when it came to hexes, what Harry was to power, Hermione was to variety and obscurity. It often took months, or even years, if at all, to find the countercharms for them (there were people who claimed that they could still spell a word on Marietta Edgecombe's face).

Molly, understandably, quite literally lost her rags for their "irresponsible and scandalous behavior", for "bringing shame to the family" as she scolded Ron in the family sitting room. Though Ron could not be too fussed about it since behind his Mum's back, all his brothers were arrayed, giving him encouraging nods, approving grins, and vigorous thumbs up signs. All, except Percy, who stood blankly staring into space, his face red as a beet. Although Ron couldn't really tell whether his dad was angry or amused as all he could see of Mr. Weasley was the top of his balding head as he sat in his favorite armchair hiding behind - ehrm, reading - the Daily Prophet. Ginny was there, too, sitting on her dad's armrest and smirking down at Ron from time to time as their mum laid into him.

Ron was to confess later to Harry that he felt quite proud actually, seeing as how his brothers seemed to be more impressed with him over the entire affair. All the Weasley brothers later admitted that it was actually another feather to the Weasley wizards' hats, that they didn't think Ron had it in him and it could very well rival the twins' departure from Hogwarts their last year.

Harry himself, when he confronted the couple back at Grimmauld, made quite a show of justified indignation complete with emphatic finger-pointing and exaggerated gesticulations. But the two remained completely unrepentant. He tried vainly to make them understand as he waved his Invisibility Cloak in front of his friends' faces that this treasured artifact, _his family's _heirloom, was not a prop to be used for any of their sexcapades. But then he noticed the fond look Hermione was giving his Cloak. Harry stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes narrowing. He quickly snatched the cloak away from her view. He was rather suspicious of that look. He didn't like that look. No, sirree, not at all. Then he glanced at Ron who sat back grinning up at him, a hand idly tracing circles on Hermione's back and Harry finally realized that he was never going to make any headway with these two. He promptly turned his back to them and marched out of the room. As he was about to pass through the door, he cast one last annoyed look at the pair only to find them mauling each other's lips. Harry promptly Disapparated back to his room, not wishing for any further assault on his sanity.

But when he reached the privacy of his bedroom, Harry laid down on his bed and allowed himself a smile. Truth be told, he was with the Weasley brothers on this one. He found the incident quite funny though he cringed at the thought that it was at Hermione's expense. For he knew, most of all, what it took for the three of them to have reached this far. He was happy for his best friends, that they have both found this happiness and with each other.

Still...

Harry woke up very early the following day and made a quick Floo to Prof. Minerva McGonagall at Hogwarts where she was still serving as Headmistress. Then soon after breakfast, Harry Apparated to the castle.

McGonagall's smile was warm and sincere as she greeted him at the castle's entrance but Harry couldn't help but notice how she seemed to be struggling to keep a straight face as she inquired about him and his friends. Harry chose to act as if he had not noticed anything and instead thanked his former teacher for accommodating his request despite giving such short notice. But as he was about to climb up the stairs he saw, out of the corner of his eye, the Fat Lady's best friend, Violet, slipping off one of the paintings in the Entrance Hallway. Harry felt a sudden sense of foreboding. He thus proceeded to the upper floors with great trepidation. True enough, when he reached the third floor...

"Harry Potter!"

Harry slowly turned his head. _Oh, no._ On a painting depicting a medieval woman hanging her laundry, someone was struggling to untangle himself from a white sheet, but Harry thought he recognized the squat body of that mad knight Sir Cadogan. Harry quickly turned around, speeding up his footsteps and almost breaking into a run in an effort to get out of there as quickly as possible. But the mad knight was finally able to extricate himself and hurried after Harry, clanking along in his suit of armor through a series of paintings.

"Harry Potter! Harry Potter! I must speak to you, sire!"

"No, you don't," Harry mumbled to himself.

"Where is thy friend, that knave, that rapscallion, Ronald Weasley? I demand satisfaction, sire! He has besmirched the honor of the Lady Granger! And it cannot be borne! I shall not allow it!"

Harry could not be bothered to reply but Sir Cadogan continued to dog his heels.

"He has taken undue advantage of the innocence (Harry snorted), the naivete (he rolled his eyes) of a Muggleborn lady who has no wizard relations to champion her! But I, I shall take up the cudgels for her! I will uphold her honor! I, Sir Cadogan ..."

But the mad knight had blessedly run out of steam. He finally stopped running after Harry and now stood doubled-over, panting, his hands planted on his knees. "I cha- I challenge him to...a...d-duel..to...the...d-death - " he wheezed down to the soft clod of earth upon which he was standing, saliva foaming at the corner of his lips.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief, and the moment he reached a trusted shortcut behind a tapestry, he quickly ducked behind it and Disillusioned himself. Thereafter, he made his way to the Headmaster's office without being further accosted.

But if he thought that his troubles were over, he soon found out he had another think coming.

The next half-hour was one of the most humiliating experiences of Harry's life, though technically he was quite alone. Here he was, vanquisher of the most powerful Dark Wizard of all time and only known survivor of the Killing Curse - twice - consulting with Dumbledore's portrait on how best to clean the venerated family heirloom. Snape's portrait walked out in disgust when he realized for what reason Harry was there, but Dumbledore's portrait's eyes twinkled like mad. A ripple of guffaws and choked-back laughter (and, was that honking?) from the other portraits broke out all around him. But Harry soldiered on, consulting with Dumbledore as if they were talking about the deepest, most profound aspects of magic. He didn't know exactly how old Ignotus Peverell's bequest was, but it was at least a thousand years old, older than Hogwarts, in fact. And he was determined to care for it for his future descendants (should he be lucky enough to have any) as his forebears did.

After he and Kreacher had both cleaned his Invisibility Cloak per Dumbledore's instructions, Harry hid it so that only he could ever have access to it. But he still carried it during his and Ron's missions - not because he needed to, having mastered the Disillusionment Charm as expertly, if not more so, than Professor Dumbledore. The truth was, he always carried it more for Ron's sake than his own. The nature of their jobs was such that they couldn't afford to be complacent. He knew only too well that the moment they were, the consequences would be more than Harry was ever willing to pay. But he would only let Ron borrow the cloak during missions; as soon as the mission was over, Harry would promptly retrieve it the moment they returned to the Ministry for debriefing.

For a structure situated deep in the London underground, Harry's office was remarkably bright and airy. Ever since the day he was promoted almost a year and a half ago to Senior Auror status - the youngest ever to be given such a distinction in the entire history of the department - and given this office, there had never been a cloudy day in this room, no matter how foul the weather truly was out in the real world. Even birds and owls were often seen flying outside Harry's windows. Undoubtedly it was the work of Reggie Cattermole and some of his

colleagues from the Department of Maintenance, as the same had been done to Hermione's office, in gratitude for the trio having saved him and his family, along with a number of others, from persecution (and quite possibly death) from Voldemort's puppet government.

Looking around Harry's small office, which he had volunteered to share with Ron, one would be hard put to think that it belonged to the great Harry Potter, indubitably, one of the world's most powerful wizards, if not the most. The room was, well - there was no other word for it - spare. There were just Harry's and Ron's desks, a large bookshelf and cabinet along one side of the wall, and a couple of chairs for visitors. It was a room completely devoid of any type of ornamentation except for a Snitch - the first one he had ever caught playing for Gryffindor - set upon wood. There were, however, quite a number of personal photographs: his parents and their friends Sirius and Remus; several of Harry, Ron and Hermione (a couple of which dating back to their first year at Hogwarts), Dumbledore, the entire Weasley family (yes, including Percy), Hagrid, his godson Teddy with his grandmother Andromeda, the Aurors Tonks and Mad-Eye Moody, Luna, Neville, McGonagall in fact, everyone who had ever meant anything to him. However, there were no sign of the numerous plaques and awards that he had received in recognition of his achievements, not just from when he had defeated Voldemort, but even after. Only his certificate of acceptance to the Auror Department graced his walls.

Harry looked at his watch. There was still plenty of time before Ginny's game that afternoon even allowing the one hour he set aside before game time to sweep the area. He wondered what to do with his remaining time; admittedly, it had been a slow week for Aurors that was why he couldn't really blame Ron and Hermione for taking a bit of time off.

He tried not to think about seeing Ginny again after all these months. He did not want to keep his hopes up that this time he would finally catch Ginny in-between boyfriends. There was no way for him to know if she were: Ron and Hermione were too caught up with each other to talk about anything else other than work or Harry and he couldn't ask any of the family either because he was afraid it would give himself too much away. Otherwise, he would have to leave the game as soon as it ended because he did not want to go through again seeing Ginny with another guy while his heart was breaking. That would just set him off to another episode of dating women he knew he could never really care for as deeply, or need as much, as he did Ginny. After five years, that game had become rather old.

Harry took a deep breath. He did not know how it had gotten to this. When he first realized his true feelings for Ginny back in his sixth year he couldn't do anything about it: she was still with Dean and there was still the threat of Voldemort hanging over their heads. He thought it was the right thing to do, keeping his feelings for her hidden. After Sirius, he didn't think he could risk Voldemort knowing he cared for anyone the way he did for Ginny. That would be tantamount to setting a rabid bloodhound on a fox, a fox with Ginny's red hair.

Then after the war, when Fred died, he felt he would be too much of a cad if he made any moves on her so soon after her brother died. He couldn't do it. Soon after, Ron and Hermione left for Australia, George went back to his store and flat in Diagon Alley. Percy, too, had his own place while Charlie had to go back to Romania. Thus he was left alone in the Burrow, feeling much the uninvited guest (though he knew that the Weasleys did not feel that way about him). Still, he thought he couldn't stay at the Burrow any longer, not when his feelings for Ginny were not exactly elder-brotherly. He wanted to give Ginny space and time to mourn. Besides, he had always planned to fix Grimmauld up for himself, Ron and Hermione to live in together, and, hopefully, to be joined eventually by Ginny. He figured he had time. What a fool he was.

But soon after moving back at Grimmauld, Kingsley made his request for Harry to work at the Ministry, and he just could not say no. Even Mrs. Weasley and Ginny had volunteered to help care for those who were injured or commiserate with those who had equally lost a loved one. Next thing he knew, it was September the first and Ginny was off back to Hogwarts - to the arms of some faceless boy who became Boyfriend Number Three. Since then, Harry had not found the opportunity to even let her know how

he truly felt about her. Careers - both his and hers - and the tendency for them both to be dating another the few times they met had only served to keep them apart. But, still, Harry had not lost hope. If he could survive two killing curses ...

He drew a sigh. Needing some time to kill, he decided to do some research on the Teumessian fox and the other issues discussed at the meeting. He stood up and walked towards the bookshelf lining the wall and pulled out a book, "How to Give a Deathwish to the Undeadable" by Deeth Mortalis, a book Luna had given him. He had barely started reading the first few pages when he heard voices from outside his office and rather thought heard his name mentioned.

Harry replaced the book back on the shelf and strode towards the door. He opened it and stood in the doorway, keeping the door open behind him. From his standpoint he could very well see above the cubicles of the other department employees. On the far side of the room where the Floo places were located, a Floo operator sat twisted round her chair arguing with someone at the Floo.

"Potter!"

Howard Donaghy, an Auror ten years Harry's senior, came striding up to him. Harry liked him: he was one of those who answered Professor Slughorn's call for help in the Battle of Hogwarts.

"I was just on my way to your office," he said, slowing down to a stop in front of Harry. "We have another cacker."

Ah, another one of those, Harry thought. Ever since he joined the department as a full-fledged Auror, wizarding Britain seemed to think that he was there to cater to their every need, no matter how petty those needs might be. The Auror department frequently received Floos demanding that Harry be sent over ASAP only for the responding team to find nothing more than a simple altercation between neighbors over an overgrowth of Bouncing Bulb that crept over the neighbor's property, or something similarly trivial. The Department had grown exasperated telling people that Aurors were Dark Wizard hunters and if dark magic was not involved then they should direct their Floos somewhere else. And they could not cherry-pick the Aurors who would respond to their Floocalls, either. Ron was particularly annoyed by them and wanted to arrest the lot of them and chuck them all at St. Mungo's Janus Thickey ward.

"Wanted you to come investigate a sudden storm in Soay," Howard went on.

Harry raised his eyebrows. Soay, St. Kilda was an uninhabited islet, one of the westernmost islands in Scotland, way out in the North Atlantic. Inclement weather was a usual occurrence in that area.

"Yeah, can you believe it? Old biddy says it must be giants doing it 'cause that's what happened in West Country back in ninety-six." He rolled his eyes.

"Anyone taking the Floo?" Harry said, slightly annoyed. There might have been a bit of a lull in their workload in the last couple of days but it didn't mean his men had the time to chase after a white rabbit.

"Me and Will," Donaghy replied, referring to his partner William Turbitt. "Have to, don't we? Bloody protocol."

"Did you try referring her to the Magical Creatures Department?"

"No bloody use. She won't budge, said we're being thrawn," Donaghy rolled his eyes. There was a resident Scotsman on the floor and the two Aurors were familiar enough with the term. "She's the one who can't get it into her head that it's not our job to check the weather."

"No, it's not," said Harry.

"Anyway, I have to be back early this afternoon 'cause I promised my children we'll be watching the Kestrel-Harpies game. It's the semi-finals, you know."

"I know. I'm watching as well. 'Might see you there."

"If you do, don't say anything to the missus. You guys always try to get me into trouble!" he said.

Harry grinned. Howard was one of the most family-man he knew. "Oh, I don't know," said Harry, "My tongue might slip."

"If you do, I just might pulp you, Chosen One or not," Howard said, grinning back.

"Just be careful," Harry said, all hilarity aside. It was one of the cardinal rules of law enforcement, to never take any operation for granted.

"Always am. You know, wife will kill me and all that if anything happens to me; swore she'd take up with a warlock who'll turn all our children to frogs," he said smiling.

Across the room, his partner waved Howard over. Donaghy and Harry turned to look at him.

"'Kay. Have to go," Howard said, still looking at his partner then he turned his face back to Harry . "Be back soon as we can." His eyes suddenly sparked with mischief, and grinning, said, "Nice outfit by the way." Harry was wearing his usual all-black get-up.

Harry laughed. "Go on, get out of here, you old geezer."

The two Aurors then left, and Harry went back inside his office to do his research.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry Potter and the Necklace of Menat

Chapter Three

Realizing that he still hadn't found the occasion where he could put Luna's book to relevant use, Harry returned to his chair and sat down. He took out the mokeskin Hagrid had given him for his seventeenth birthday. He had added several enchantments to it – including an undetectable extension charm. He carefully fished out from inside an ancient-looking copy of a _Guide to Advanced Transfiguration Year Seven._

It was, without a doubt, one of Harry's most treasured possessions, more valuable to him than the entire contents of his Gringotts vault. Nobody knew Harry had this book, not even Ron and Hermione. And doubtless Hermione would go mad as a bag of ferrets if she knew Harry had it. For it was nothing but a repository of all the spells and charms – majority of which self-invented – that Dumbledore ever knew in his long life.

Dumbledore himself (or rather, his painting) had given it to Harry some time after the Battle of Hogwarts. And Harry was exceedingly grateful for it: the book had more than made up for the gap in his magical education, having missed his seventh year in search of Voldemort's Horcruxes. And although by now Harry knew by heart most of the book's contents, sometimes it still surprised him: stray bits of knowledge would often appear in its pages as Harry riffled through it as if in response to Harry's particular need at the time. Plenty of times Hermione had pestered him about where he had learned a particular spell or how he did a particular feat of magic, but Harry simply refused to satisfy her curiosity and kept the existence of the book continually secret. After a while, she gave up prying, attributing Harry's uncommon magical skills to a surge in his power that soon became apparent days after the Battle of Hogwarts.

For that was exactly how Harry came upon this book. After having slept for more than thirty six hours after the Battle, Harry awoke in the small hours of the morning and decided that it was the best time as any to return the Elder wand to Dumbledore's tomb.

As he was walking along the deserted halls of the destroyed castle under his Invisibility Cloak, Harry chanced upon the statue head that reminded him of the tiara Horcrux inside the Room of Hidden Things. Its eyes were still moving, and rather despairingly, Harry thought. It was obvious the staff and the Hogwarts house-elves still had too much on their hands to attend to the repair of the battered castle. Harry waved his wand and whispered _Reparo_! but instead of just the one statue repairing itself, there was a whirl of movement along the entire length of the corridor and thirty other statues and suits of armors were similarly restored, each and everyone looking as if it were newly-forged.

Harry stared around, disbelieving, then back down at the phoenix wand in his hand. He was completely stupefied. Did his wand…did he just…what the hell was that? He tried again, this time directing his attention to a broken window nearby. And the exact same thing happened. All the broken windows along that corridor, not just the one Harry was aiming at, were completely restored to a pristine condition. Unable to account for the mystery, he decided to head to the Headmaster's office and seek Dumbledore's portrait's opinion.

Harry found the gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's office fully restored, but as soon as it saw him approach, it sprang aside and allowed Harry entry even before he could make the request. He then thanked the gargoyle and climbed up the moving staircase.

As he stood outside Dumbledore's main office, he heard voices inside, a woman giggling, though Harry was sure it well could not have been Professor McGonagall – the thought was rather disconcerting. Harry knocked on the door tentatively and the voices immediately ceased. He pushed the door open and was unsurprised to find the room quite empty.

"Harry," Dumbledore's portrait exclaimed in pleasure at the sight of him.

Harry self-consciously walked in, as most of the portraits of the former Headmasters were frankly staring at him. He noticed that Professor Snape still did not have a portrait of his in the room, and Harry resolved to do something about it first light of the morning.

"Harry, to what do we owe this pleasure?" Dumbledore said, beaming down at him.

"Professor, something, er, strange happened."

"You mean stranger than you coming back to life after being hit by the Killing Curse? Well, let's hear it then," said Dumbledore and he settled back into his chair as if he waiting for a classical music concert in front of him to begin.

So Harry told the portrait what had happened with the statues and windows in the corridor. After Harry had spoken, all the other former Headmasters turned their faces to Dumbledore. But the old wizard remained quiet, looking pensive.

"I'd like to speak with Harry alone please, if I may?" Dumbledore said shortly, addressing the room. Though taken aback, the other headmasters complied, all giving Harry and Dumbledore curious looks as one by one they left, Phineas most reluctantly.

But Dumbledore had asked Harry first to perform a spell that would prevent the other former Headmasters from secretly listening in on their conversation, telling him the incantation and the wand movements that went with it. Only when Dumbledore was fully satisfied that they could not be eavesdropped upon did he return his attention back to Harry.

"Do you know where I have kept hidden the real sword of Gryffindor?" Dumbledore said, peering down his long nose at Harry.

"Yes, sir. I saw it in Professor's Snape's memories."

"Good. There is something there that I have left especially for you. I'd like you to retrieve it now."

Then Dumbledore's portrait swung forward, revealing the secret panel inside. At first Harry thought it was empty, but then he espied towards the back something small. A book, he realized. He reached a hand inside and took it out. Dumbledore's portrait swung back into place.

_Guide to Advanced Transfiguration, Year Seven. _It looked like it had seen better days, not unlike that of the Half-Blood Prince's Potions book. Harry turned a puzzled look up at Dumbledore's portrait who was smiling benevolently down at him.

"I made it for you, after discovering that you have, uhm, shall we say, a certain facility in learning things from old books?" Dumbledore said delicately, his eyes twinkling, but Harry did not mind, for he had started opening the pages and discovered with a leap of excitement that it was just as heavily-graffitied as Snape's book had been, with all the notes written in Dumbledore's loopy handwriting.

"As you know by now, before I died I already knew that I have very little time left, that most likely I won't be around for your seventeenth birthday. I therefore assumed that you would have to abandon your education to search for the Horcruxes. And though I expected your

triumph over Voldemort, alas, the final outcome of the war was impossible even for me to discern. I also surmised the possibility of you gaining powers as a result of your brief dalliance with Death."

Harry looked back up at Dumbledore, eyes questioning.

"How many times have you heard it said in the Muggle world, Harry, that sometimes the only thing that can hold a person back is himself? For we are often fettered by our fears and preconceived notions that we do not allow ourselves to consider the possibility that we can be more, that we can do more. You, Harry, on the other hand, have seen and lived through something that no human being has ever experienced before. Your awareness and certainty of the limitless boundaries of this life, I thought, would likely have a freeing effect on your own magic and abilities. That, and the fact that you will no longer be playing host to a piece of Voldemort's soul. And I see I have not been proven wrong. This book, Harry, will help guide you in using your newfound abilities. And you may very well need them. Who knows how many people by now have correctly surmised that you are now the owner of the Elder wand, and how many of those are fully aware of its import?"

Harry nodded, now realizing the full extent of his burden. He found he could not much speak, feeling a painful lump in his throat. And though he was talking to Dumbledore just as he would have if Dumbledore were still alive, Harry felt he wanted to see and talk to the real thing.

"My only request is that you keep this book to yourself and yourself alone, do you understand?" Dumbledore said and looked down at Harry in that characteristic way that made him feel he was being X-rayed. Harry nodded his assent. He understood it to mean that he could not let Hermione or Ron know about it.

"You will learn later as to why after you have read the contents. And I suggest that you start reading on how to perform magic wandlessly, as I feel that it will be your most pressing need." Later on, Harry was to find out why he had to keep the existence of the book secret. The knowledge contained in it was simply too powerful, and would be dangerous if it should fall in the wrong hands.

"Thank you, Professor," said Harry, having found his voice, "I don't know what to say. This is probably one of the best gifts I've ever gotten. I'm not sure if I deserve it," Harry said earnestly.

"But you do, Harry. I just hope that you'll be as lucky as I was in finding someone deserving of passing your knowledge to," Dumbledore said, gazing down at Harry with affection.

But it was not the only gift he had received that day. Half an hour later, Harry found himself standing before Dumbledore's open tomb. He took his time rearranging the reposing body, and felt surprisingly no revulsion in touching Dumbledore's corpse at all. Rather, Harry tended to his professor's body caringly, tenderly, repairing and carefully relaying the torn shroud upon the emaciated corpse. Following the old wizard's

instructions, Harry trained his two other wands on the Elder wand. Immediately the wand began to vibrate and Harry placed it inside the coffin. The elder wand lengthened and snaked around to the edge of the tomb then it widened and flattened itself against its marble confines, forming a bed of wooden coffin underneath Dumbledore's body. To the

unknowing, there was nothing to betray its true valuable nature. Then using the _Geminio _spell, he duplicated Draco's old wand which he then placed on Dumbledore's chest. Now the dissimulation was complete and Harry was satisfied. Using his two remaining wands, Harry at last resealed the tomb.

Suddenly he felt movement just on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. He wheeled around towards the disturbance, his wand at the ready. But what happened next, nothing could have prepared him for. Out of the gloom and dark of the forest emerged, one after another, what must be the entire number of centaurs living in the Forbidden Forest – the males first, then the females, then finally their younglings. They ranged themselves along the entire length of the Forest, facing the castle. Then the biggest centaur Harry had ever seen, a good head and a half taller than the rest of them – and more fierce and wild-looking, too, with his huge mane of stringy hair – emerged last. He then took central command in front.

Harry took a slight step back, though he was not afraid. He did not know whether he should prepare to defend himself, hex them, or simply run away. But then the chief centaur (for what else could he be?) started to speak.

"Harry Potter," he spoke in a deep, stentorian voice. "I am Diomed, the chief of this tribe. It is a great honor bestowed upon you that you should set eyes upon our centaurides (Harry knew he was referring to the females, who were naked from the waist up, but he did not allow his eyes to wander over to them for fear of offending the males) and our younglings. But we have been watching you, young wizard. We saw what you tried to do, back in the Acromantula's den. And though we will not speak of it, we know what you have just kept hidden in the former Headmaster's tomb. You are a great wizard, Harry Potter," he said, looking Harry straight in the eye.

"But I only did what I had to do," said Harry, keen to downplay his actions. "There was nothing special at all about what I have done. It was just the right thing to do."

"Perhaps, you may think so. But it is not often that we centaurs are made witness to such heroic acts of self-sacrifice. We applaud you. And we honor you." He nodded his head majestically at Harry, and to Harry's supreme amazement, started going down on one knee, his head bowed. The rest of his tribe soon followed, including the younglings and the still heavily-bandaged Firenze, whom Harry had just noticed and who was aided by the long black-haired female standing beside him.

Harry was deeply moved. It was obvious from the awkward way they moved that the action was not something they were accustomed to. He did not know what to do and wondered if he should return the gesture. But before he could do or say anything, the centaurs began straightening up again. So Harry expressed his gratitude by a simple nod of the head.

"You, Harry Potter, shall have our tribe's abiding friendship and as a token of our word we offer you this," and he presented to Harry a set of bow and arrows. He gestured for a young centaur to bring the items to Harry. The young centaur immediately obeyed, cantering right up to Harry and kneeling down a bit so Harry could reach out and take the proffered gifts. Even in the dark, Harry could see the gleam of the bow's golden burnish of wood. "The bow and arrows that you now have in your hands were made by our ancestors thousands of years ago. They will never age, nor need care, nor decay in any way. And the arrows will never fail to find the mark you set them upon, no matter the distance."

Harry wanted to protest. He did not think that centaurs set too much store by material possessions and therefore must not have too many of them. The bow and arrows must be of great value to their entire nation. But he did not want to offend them either, for he knew they were rather a proud lot.

The chief must have sensed Harry's misgivings for he spoke again.

"They are gifts, Harry Potter. But you need not worry. When the time comes, the bow and arrows will eventually find their way back to us. They only come to those who deserve it."

"Thank you," said Harry, "I'm exceedingly grateful."

The chief centaur gave Harry another long look and then said, "Farewell, Harry Potter." And with that the Chief abruptly turned around and disappeared back into the gloom of the Forbidden Forest, his tribe immediately following behind him until at last only Firenze was left. For a long time, he and Harry stood looking at each other, and Harry felt keenly the poignancy of parting, of saying goodbye to someone you wished you could have known more but now could not.

"Goodbye, Harry Potter," Firenze softly said, but his voice carried over to where Harry was standing just the same. "Until we meet again." He raised a hand in farewell and then he too turned to disappear back into the Forbidden Forest.

Harry sat bolt upright.

_That's it! The centaurs' arrows! _He knew that the ancient Greek wizards were only able to get rid of the Teumessian fox by setting upon it the Lailaps, a dog that was destined to always catch its prey. But there was no evidence at all that the Lailaps had broken through its curse, as the Teumessian fox had done. But the bow and arrows the centaurs had given him were similarly designed. The

centaurs must have seen this coming. They were inveterate stargazers after all. They must have known about the Supervoid, probably known about it longer than the Muggles had. And that was the primary reason they gave him the golden bow and arrows. They knew the weapon would be needed.

Harry hurriedly put away Dumbledore's book back into his mokeskin. He then stood up, intending to rush to Hogwarts to consult with the centaurs but suddenly, the unmistakable form of a Patronus drifted through the walls.

"Harry…help…" the silvery form of a deer spoke in the strangled voice of William Turbitt. A frisson of fear ran down Harry's spinal column. Howard was the more senior of the two. Protocol dictated that he be the one to call in for back-up. Harry knew the capabilities of each and every man in his Department. Donaghy was not an easy Auror to take down.

Harry sprung into action. He grabbed his trench coat and put it back on, then rushed back out of his office to the secretaries' desk.

"Liede! Where exactly did Donaghy's team go?" Harry demanded, pulling out his mokeskin and taking out Draco's wand. The secretary's eyes widened. Harry without his wand was already a powerful wizard to reckon with. Without a wand, he was practically invincible. What could have happened that Harry felt he needed to use his second wand?

Around them, all movement ceased. Sensing something was up, all the Aurors in the room bolted to Harry's side.

Just then all the fireplaces flared to life and everyone in the room turned his head towards it. Then their eyes flicked to the notice board of Aurors out on a mission. There were only two names: Howard's and Will's.

Harry turned his attention back to the secretary. "The address, Liede?" he said impatiently.

"We sent them to the Flooer's house, Mr. Potter," Liede said, her voice shaking as she read the Floo parchment from which she was reading. Did she just send two men to their deaths? "A Mrs. Morag Macsween in Gleann Mòr." She cast an anguished look at Harry. "But they would have followed SOP and Apparated some distance away."

That was true. Though they could never match Harry skill for skill, ever since Harry joined the Auror ranks, his comrades had sharpened their skills to at least complement his.

"Inform the heads, will you?" said Harry.

"Already done," Liede promptly replied, reining in her fear.

Harry looked around at his men. "Donaghy and Turbitt are down. I have no idea how hurt they are or why. We're running into this operation completely blind. Who's coming with me?"

Every Auror volunteered. Harry nodded. He barked off assignments in brief then pointed to a group of Aurors. "Stay here. You know the drill," he added. Someone needed to stay behind to hold the fort and raise reinforcements from the other departments if the need arose.

He turned back to Liede. "Hand me a Portkey." The secretary rootled around in her drawer for a suitable Portkey and extracted a broken handle of a floor mop. She handed it over to Harry who took it without a word.

"Portus," Harry said. The handle glowed and he held it out for the men coming with him as the first deployment team to take. The second batch would follow a minute behind them.

They all placed a finger on the wood and in an instant Harry felt the now familiar tug behind his navel and he and the other Aurors were pulled into a vortex of wind and colors, praying desperately that Howard and Will were still alive.

Harry felt his feet slam to the ground. He looked about. Ahead was the wizarding village of Gleann Mòr which Muggles are unable to see. The town served largely as a supply depot and temporary housing for families of Ministry personnel stationed at Azkaban. But the name Macsween did not ring any bells to him, and he did not associate the call with the critical nature of the town. That had been his mistake - and only, he decided.

Wizards and witches had already gathered on the tip of a finger of land facing Soay. A mass of black clouds whirled around the island, almost completely enshrouding it.

Harry then directed his men to search for Macsween to try to get more information. While waiting, he had the team quickly secure the immediate vicinity, set up the staging area for the mission, and the onlookers herded away. He knew Muggles from Village Bay on the other side of the island would have noticed the storm clouds by now and members of the Muggle Obliviator squad would soon be arriving, which meant more reinforcements, a good thing.

Soon two Aurors returned with a middle aged woman. She looked like one of those rugged, hard-working folk common in these islands. You would have to be in this rather unforgiving environment. Harry fired questions at her immediately.

"I was airing my laundry when I first noticed it," said Macsween. "It started as a cloud of mist and then rapidly grew into a storm cloud, but I stopped what I was doing to look at it. It made me feel uneasy. I felt it was unusual."

"How could you tell?" asked Harry.

"I don't know how. You wouldn't really understand what I'm talking about unless you've been living in this area all your life. I tried to explain this to the two Aurors who arrived earlier, but it was obvious they did not believe me. They left to take a look at the island and that was the last I saw of them. And then I Flooed you people again, but by that time the storm cloud had already grown to that," she said, nodding at the swirl of dark cloud wrapped around the Soay, "and I couldn't go through you people anymore. I guess others have begun to report it as well." She looked up apprehensively at Harry. "The boys - your men - they aren't back? " she asked Harry. And when he shook his head, a rictus of anguish crossed her face but she didn't say more.

Harry now stood looking out towards Soay, mentally working himself over. Why did he not take the call? There was nothing at all flaky about the Scottish woman. Harry should have made certain whether the Floo was legitimate or not. God, Howard's kids were still so young.

Harry shook his head clear and focused his entire mind on the task at hand. Now more than ever he needed to be able to think clearly.

He had only been here in these parts a few times - his job necessitated frequent visits to Azkaban and he had made a few detours in these islands. It was believed that the site was holy to ancient wizards and frequent sacrifices were made there, mainly of the island's famous sheep. But the facts of the legends were long ago lost in the mists of time. He remembered Soay as being completely barren of trees – like the rest of the islands in the entire archipelago – and there not having a square foot of flat surface to stand upon.

Harry considered his options. The _Homenum Revelio _spell would not work this far from the island. It was only ever designed to be used in a confined space; else, it would pick up human beings within a thousand meter radius around him. From his vantage point the only thing that could be seen of Soay was the angry swirl of dark clouds circling it. He

looked up at the sky, which was thankfully clear, and then behind him at his men awaiting further instructions. A little off away, a couple of Aurors from the second team were cordoning off the kibitzers. Then he looked back at the Auror, Gavin, standing in a defensive position just behind him. A look passed between them and the young man imperceptibly nodded. He understood Harry was about to make a move, though what, he had no idea. Gavin in turn turned his gaze back to the other Aurors, a look equally acknowledged and relayed. The message was passed: Stand Down.

Harry then walked towards the edge and peered down the angry, unforgiving sea below and without a word or a look back stepped off the cliff. He heard the screams of the civilians behind him but paid them no heed, focusing his wits and senses instead on what he needed to do. Halfway down the length of the cliff, he Transfigured into a seabird, one among the many that made home of St. Kilda. He shot across away from the island then up towards the sky, joining the million other seabirds flying around the islands, the civilians none the wiser.

Harry did not have the time to relish the freedom, the exhilaration, flying often gave him. Already several minutes had passed since they had arrived on the island. He rose higher and higher, far above the swirl of clouds covering Soay until he had a clear view of the island below him.

Just as he had suspected, the black whirlpool of clouds was behaving exactly as a storm would: with an eye of calm in the middle. He dove down below, intent on getting a clear view of the land though careful not to be sucked into the vortex. Already he had seen several of the island's famous sheep caught in the swirling wind. There, on the northeast summit of the island, the unmistakable glint of a Protective Shield winked at him against the sunlight but what lay underneath Harry could not see. He made another pass around the island and finally spotted the two Aurors, huddled against a small outcrop of rock. His sharp gannet's eyes could clearly see dark-haired Turbitt's bleeding body cradling a prostrate Howard in his lap. Harry wasted a few precious moments circling above them, torn between the need to save his men and the desire to secure the suspects – if he made a move, chances were, the latter would get away.

Making up his mind, he dove straight down, dead center in the eye of the storm. Immediately he slammed against a strong barrier of wards, so strong it might well have been solid. But Harry persisted until finally he reached the ground. He landed a few feet away from the injured Aurors. At first, Turbitt, looking as if he was struggling to remain conscious, did not notice the seabird that had just landed near him. But Harry made cautious, if deliberate, steps towards his men and Turbitt finally noticed the gannet that did not move like any bird he had ever seen before and thus became instantly alert.

"Harry?" he whispered. Harry shook his bird-head; he did not want the suspects to know something was up. He assessed the situation, still in his bird form, turning his head this way and that to see whether they could be seen, his wings spread out, sensing out the magic in the air for signal charms. There were, but only against Apparators to the island. When finally Harry deemed it safe enough, he Transfigured himself back to human form and crouched down before the two men, completely hidden from the view of anyone inside the dome.

"How many?" Harry asked as he quickly assessed the Aurors' injuries. He wanted to make sure that he could move them out of the island without causing further damage, though he only had but a rudimentary knowledge of diagnostic and healing spells.

"Four…a witch…three wizards…." William said, wincing in pain, then he turned a guilty look towards Harry. "Harry…I'm…sorry…" he started to say but Harry cut him off.

"Don't speak. It was not your fault. The entire island was cloaked in layers of disabling spells, crippling hexes…" Harry quietly said, belying the turmoil in his veins, the darkening of his mind. These Aurors never stood a chance. The moment they Apparated into the island, they were dead. He tried to calm his blood, concentrating instead on his wand movements, trying to heal Turbitt's injuries as best he could. They were simple enough: mere cutting hexes, though quite a few penetrated deep into his body. Normally an Auror would have no trouble deflecting these curses but the protection wards were Apparation-triggered, something that his men would have no way of knowing.

But Howard's injuries puzzled Harry. He made several passes of his wand along the elder Auror's body, trying not to think of Howard's cold, pale skin, his rapid, shallow breaths, his unfocused eyes.

"It was the _Halobates _curse, Harry. The woman, I heard her cast it," Turbitt spoke more steadily, having regained some of his strength due to Harry's ministrations.

Harry's head snapped back towards William, his brows furrowed. The curse that liquefies internal organs. Although it was easily blocked by a focused Protego-Expulso charm, there was, however, no cure for it and therefore quite lethal: a most painful way to die. Harry turned back to Howard, waving his wand over the blond Auror. It confirmed what William had said. Howard's internal organs were indeed starting to liquefy. Then Howard seemed to sense Harry's presence. His gaze started to focus a

little and turned it towards Harry who was valiantly trying hard to keep his emotions in check.

"I…love…them…." Donaghy struggled to say, his clear blue eyes looking directly at Harry's emerald green ones. Harry nodded and briefly saw in Howard's mind the elder Auror's most cherished memories of himself and his family. Harry's jaw clenched tight.

Harry then leaned back on his heels, scouting around himself for something he could turn into a Portkey. Finding none, he removed his belt. Still kneeling down, he carefully lifted Howard's body onto his lap. Harry's mind now was a cloud of mingled grief and fury. He nodded to William who reached out a hand to touch a part of the belt. With both men now secured to him, Harry whispered "Portus." The belt glowed and away they were pulled into the maelstrom of wailing wind and clash of colors.

As Harry had intended, they were immediately transported back in Gleann

Mòr inside the triage erected by the Ministry mediwizards. William and Harry, who was still cradling Howard in his arms, appeared standing on both feet as Aurors were trained to do, though Turbitt rather shakily. The Healers immediately converged around them and tended to William's injuries but Harry carried Howard's body all the way to an emergency pallet. He carefully laid down Howard's body on the wooden platform, and only then did he allow himself to look at the elder Auror's face again. But no longer could the other Auror return Harry's gaze. Not ever more.

Harry gently slid Howard's eyelids close. He gave one last look at Howard's still, pallid face then turned and walked over to the bed where William had been taken. No one foolishly tried to offer Harry sympathy. In fact, everyone in the room was giving him a wide berth, having found something implacable in his expression. But the Healers needed more time before they could make a complete assessment of William's condition, and Harry had to leave with the uncertainty over his head.

"Aurors!" he called out the moment he stepped outside, wind whipping his thick black hair. He ignored the kibitzers who called and shouted his name when they saw him emerging from the tent.

The other Aurors immediately approached, those guarding the civilians casting a barrier shield against them as they left the cordoned off area. The men stood warily, seeing the expression on Harry's face; a few stole discreet glances into the opening of the Healing tent. But nobody need be told that something had terribly gone wrong.

Then Harry informed the men of the situation, as far as he knew it to be. He gave them a quick appraisal of the conditions in the island and mapped out his plan, laying out particular instructions to the Aurors. When everyone knew his job, Harry nodded to them and said, "Wait for my signal."

Gavin made as if to protest, but Harry shook his head.

"I'll be fine," Harry said. "Step back." The Aurors did as they were told. Harry waved his two wands, and a golden Protective Shield, transparent as glass yet hard as diamond, bloomed around him. Harry surveyed his men for an instant, hoping that he was not about to lead any more of them to their deaths. Briefly, he thought how grateful he was that Ron was not there but dismissed the thought as being selfish. The lives of these men were not worth any less than his best mate's. Then without a word he Disapparated, Shield and all.

By itself, Apparating was not exactly the most pleasant sensation a wizard could ever experience, but Apparating with a Shield full on was sheer bloody torture. It felt like hard, thick panes of glass were being folded and squeezed along with his body into a suffocating tube. But Harry endeavored. Ahead of him, he heard large popping sounds like the crack of a bullwhip as his Shield broke against the barrier wards. But the howling cyclone surrounding the island masked the noise of his approach. And then he was back in Soay, back behind the stone outcrop where he had found Howard and Will earlier. He tried not to look down at the trail of blood and the unmistakable sign of a body being dragged on the ground.

Harry quickly set to work, removing the layers upon layers of disabling charms and hexes on the island, enabling his men to Apparate in, for to Portkey in his men as one group was a sure way to have them wiped out in one go.

Now more than ever he was grateful for Dumbledore's book, otherwise he would never have the knowledge sufficient enough to try and disable these charms. His task was made even more difficult by the fact that some charms were interconnected with each other so that Harry could not remove one without triggering an alarm – those he left alone. The others, he tried to disable as fast as he could. After a few minutes working, sweat had started to bead on Harry's forehead and upper lip despite the cool climate and the air being constantly stirred by the surrounding cyclone.

When finally he deemed it safe enough for his men to Apparate into the island without being crippled by multiple hexes, he sent his stag Patronus to them. Then he waited. He felt surprisingly calm, his nerves steady. The battle was far from over.

At the first crack of the unmistakable sound of Apparition, Harry immediately Apparated to just outside the edge of the Protective dome. The other arriving Aurors arrayed themselves in a tight grid behind him.

Like lightning Harry waved his wand. Thick bars of golden light shot out from his wand and upwards above them. The golden lights interconnected, accompanied by a loud clanking noise like the slamming of iron bars, effectively encasing them in a golden web of light, over and above the criminals' Shield. He tried to make it impervious to Portkeys, but the other side was a completely unknown entity. Harry had no idea what the other side was capable of doing. (A lot, for certain, judging from the complicated wards alone.) That done, Harry set about dismantling the suspects' Protective wards. He found several easy enough for him to remove, including the Obscuris charm hiding the suspects

inside from view.

At last the suspects were revealed, exactly as Turbitt told Harry. Two of the men he recognized at once. One was John Leechman, a known petty thief not unlike Mundungus Fletcher and the other was Ice Bill, your all-around henchwizard for hire. So long as one was willing to pay, he'd get the job done, including murder. With absolutely no compunction, with chillingly no remorse.

Then there was the third wizard, a young man, really, who looked to Harry no older than seventeen. He looked quite nervous, as well he should, with the entire force of Ministry Aurors ranged against them. He

looked as if he did not even know why he was there at all but Harry was not about to take anything for granted.

And then there was the witch, the one who cast the Halobates curse at Donaghy. Harry directed his full attention to her; his men could deal with the rest easy enough. She stood chanting, though Harry could not hear the words, in front of a coffin in which lay a fully decomposed human body so that only the skeleton remained. She was wearing a

headdress, a cow's horns with a glowing sun disk in between, and a turquoise necklace.

Despite himself, Harry was astounded. The woman was clearly attempting to resurrect someone from the dead. No spell could bring the dead back to life, Harry , Dumbledore's words echoed in his head but this woman was evidently making a serious attempt, serious enough that she was willing to sacrifice other people's lives for this one.

The woman's eyes widened in terror when she saw that their wards had been breached but she did not cease her chanting. Instead, she started to spit out her words double time.

But one ward still remained which Harry had extreme difficulty even identifying and so could not dismantle. Then he took a step back, considering the wards, then started feeling the magic the way Dumbledore had done in Regulus's cave. Then his brows began to furrow. He looked closely at the ward again and thought he saw a stain of red color glistening in the transparent structure, the way colors would appear on the surface of a soap bubble. He made several passes of his wand against the dome anew, this time looking for specific signs. What he discovered

completely pole-axed him. He waved his wand again, and again he got the same results. Harry threw a disbelieving look at the witch who continued with her frenzied chanting, the sun disk on her head now glowing so brightly it hurt the eyes.

It was a Placental Shield. The ward was anchored on a stone that was dipped in a placental potion. A witch or wizard had to tear open a woman's belly – while she was still alive – and immediately extract the placenta in order for the placenta to be usable.

Harry's mind raged furiously. He was so angry his eyes must have crossed from the rush of anger filling his brain. He prowled the outside of the shield now like a hungry jackal, knowing there was no way he could possibly bring the Shield down, not unless he was able to find it in himself the will to tear open a pregnant woman's stomach. Because that was what made the Placental Shield nearly impossible to break: the ward

acted as if it was still protecting an unborn child within. And like the Unforgiveable Curses, you have to mean to destroy a life, an innocent life, to effect a spell that would destroy the Shield. And Harry could not do it, his own magic was protesting at the very thought.

And, he was losing time. The witch was now pouring what looked like slimy white flesh from a large jar into the coffin, maggots as long as a man's hands slipping in and out of the pallid flesh. Then she imperiously beckoned the youngest wizard to come nearer. She said something to him, and he nervously held out his right arm, presenting the crook of his elbow to her. The witch drew out a long knife from inside her robes and made an incision in the young wizard's flesh. She turned his arm so that the blood gushing out from his veins would pour into the coffin. If there had been any doubt in Harry's mind about what the woman was attempting to do, it had now vanished. Then she roughly

pushed the young man's arms away when the blood sacrificed seemed enough. The woman then resumed her fevered chanting over the corpse.

Harry banged his fist furiously against the dome. He had never before felt quite this impotent. He noted how the lump of flesh was growing on the skeleton. He had very little time left. He knew the moment the

corpse was fully resurrected, the suspects would immediately Portkey away.

Harry considered the wards again. He knew that air was a more passive substrate for magic than earth and therefore the Shield would be stronger aboveground. But where the ward had to anchor itself upon solid earth, in theory, it might be weaker. Harry then started gouging the earth just outside the Placental dome. The witch's eyes widened at Harry's uncommon display of elemental magic. Deeper and deeper Harry made excavations into the ground until he felt a slight give, a weak spot, in the ward. Harry then trained his two wands on the weak spot and then raised his other fist, concentrating magic in it, then pummel-bludgeoned the Shield. It gave an almighty shudder but the dome held. Harry knew he could not really destroy its magic, not unless he could imagine himself ripping apart a pregnant woman's belly. And mean it.

Harry was breathing hard now. Think, Harry, think! Then it hit him.

Protecting life: that was the essence of the Placental Shield, the essence of his mother's sacrifice, of his own sacrifice at the Battle of Hogwarts. A corner of his lip curled up into a humorless smile. Then Harry turned to himself, feeling his own magic, then, again, for the magic in the ward but with a different purpose this time. There, he recognized its protective quintessence, and he latched his own magic to it. He felt his magic adapting, and tiny filaments of multi-colored, neon

lights began arcing and leaping in and out of his body, like coronal bursts, as his magic attuned itself to the protective nature of the Shield. Everyone in that island stared at each other. They had never seen anything like it.

At last, Harry sensed no more difference between the wavelength of his own magic and that of the Shield. Then looking the woman straight in the eye, he stepped into the dome and immediately the Placental Shield collapsed, its magic instantly dissolving into Harry's body.

With a speed Harry did not expect, the witch cast the first spell against him. A telltale lurid black-and-purple light issued forth from her wand: the Halobates curse. But the magic of the Placental Shield still held and it did nothing to Harry. The entire Auror force then hurled their own barrage of curses against the suspects and all the three wizards went down like a ton of bricks, though Ice Bill made a futile attempt to put in one against the Aurors who were simply too quick for him. However, the witch remained unscathed. She cast curse after curse – all deadly, all dark – against Harry and the other Aurors but Harry had prepared his men well.

A blast of abrasive wind hit the Aurors, but Harry remained standing. Two Aurors at the back of him, however, were thrown back off their feet and into the air but Harry flicked his wand over his shoulder and the two wizards were pulled back to the ground, landing on both feet, though visibly shaken. Harry was not going to lose any more of his men. Not if he could help it.

Suddenly a billowing, roaring noise rushed around them.

Fuck! Harry would recognize that sound anywhere. Fiendfyre! There were only two ways to effectively end the curse. One was for the original caster to stop the curse himself – if he were able – and the other was to conjure Holy Water. And only a fully ordained priest could genuinely bless water. There were no priests in the British Auror roster. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

The billowing hot air took form and a full, enormous dragon fire-creature appeared in front of them.

"Get out of here!" Harry bellowed out to his men, as he frantically pulled down the encapsulating dome he himself had erected to allow them to Apparate away. But nobody moved – no Auror would willingly leave a comrade behind, and certainly not if that comrade happened to be Harry. Hoping to buy some time, Harry desperately shouted the spell anyway "_Aqua Benedictum_!" just as the dragon-fire creature made towards one Auror, and much to Harry's surprise the charm worked. The water that gushed out of his two wands was able to douse the rampaging creature.

Blood pounding in his ears, Harry concentrated all his power against the

witch. This had to end now. It was clear to him that the sun disk was powering her spells as it continued to glow with blinding intensity. Harry also noted how she had not let go of the body inside the coffin and continued to chant in some Eastern European language Harry could barely recognize, while at the same time casting curse after lethal curse against Harry and his men.

Harry had noticed as well that the formerly white flesh had now become pinkish in hue and had increased in size while the slimy maggots had started shrinking. It now started forming the upper torso and thighs of the skeleton and black veins had sprouted and spread and ramified all across its entire length.

The black veins suddenly reminded Harry of Dumbledore's blackened hands. There was no external force that could ever have defeated the powerful wizard. It was his own heart, his guilt-ridden heart, that ultimately caused his downfall. Harry looked at the witch who did not run away the moment the first Aurors arrived, knowing that an Auror down meant the rest of the force was sure to follow, with Harry Potter leading the charge. Despite the overwhelming odds, she continued with the resurrection attempt.

Harry knew what to do now.

Wordlessly, he sent a simple spell towards the body in the coffin, incinerating the flesh to a black hardened mass.

The witch made an animalistic cry. She looked positively deranged with her long black hair streaming in the wind and her eyes wide with dark malevolence. She began walking backwards until she was almost upon the edge of the cliff, screaming words at Harry he did not understand. But Harry merely stared stolidly back at her. Her battle was lost.

But with one defiant look, she wrenched the necklace and head-dress from her body and hurled them out to the sea. At once, the howling wind and swirling clouds ceased. Harry shouted "Accio!" but nothing happened. The spell was echoed repeatedly around him and still the headdress and necklace did not come.

Harry ran towards the edge of the island, Petrifying the witch as he passed her by. And, without pausing to think, he jumped off the cliff.

It was a sheer drop of almost four hundred meters but Harry had no choice. He transformed back into a gannet, slowing his descent by flying in a circular pattern down. Less than thirty meters from the surface of the sea, he dive-bombed into the water, instinctively drawing a third eyelid close to protect his eyes.

His keen gannet eyesight had seen the still glowing head-crown soon enough but the necklace was harder to find against the dark background of the ocean floor. He dove after the glowing head-crown, catching the tip of a horn in his bird-mouth, and, aided by its glowing light, at last saw the necklace as it drifted slowly down to the bottom of the sea. He dove after it, hooking it to his bill when he finally reached it. Harry knew he was pushing his gannet-body to the limit but, if he needed to, he could always transform into another animal more suitable to the water. With the natural grace and speed of his seabird-body, he quickly changed his direction and swam to the surface. He burst out of the water and flew swiftly back to his men. Once again, he transfigured himself while still in mid-air back into human form, landing gracefully on both feet in front of the witch – now subdued by two Aurors on either side – and deftly catching the necklace and the crown as they fell in his hands.

Upon seeing the two artifacts in his hands, a look of profound sadness appeared on the witch's face. For the first time, she looked completely human, not the lamia she seemed to Harry minutes ago. She gave Harry one last bitter look then suddenly, she seized up and her body began to twitch, her eyes rolling back into her head. Her skin started to wrinkle and shrink right before their very eyes. She was convulsing so hard that she was shaking the two Aurors holding her and they had difficulty keeping her upright.

"_Finite Incantatem! Finite!"_ shouted Harry and the other Aurors but it was too late. She collapsed, dead on the ground, her entire body looking like a dry, old desiccated tree.

It was over.

The two Aurors straightened up and stood there for a time, looking uncertainly at Harry. He nodded to them and they left quietly to join the others in the mopping-up of the scene.

Harry capped his eyes with one hand, suddenly feeling very weary. Was it really only an hour ago that this entire ordeal had begun? An hour ago when he and Howard had been exchanging jokes in front of his office. He looked down at the woman's body on the ground, feeling rather bitter himself. What had she accomplished? Three lives lost, including an innocent unborn child, for one who was already dead. And Harry's mind railed at the stupidity of it all.

Presently, the Head of their Department came striding towards him. They stood there for a time without speaking, looking down at the witch.

"I heard you made quite a show today," Dick Pendrill said after a while. Harry did not answer.

"I'm sorry about Howard. He was a good man."

"How's Will?" Harry asked.

Pendrill studied Harry's face. He only saw weariness, though the air was crackling with the anger roiling underneath Harry's calm facade.

Pendrill sighed. "He'll be fine. You saved his life. Another minute more and he would have lost so much blood, multiple organ failure would have set in."

Harry did not say anything but instead surveyed the scene. Other Aurors had already begun interrogating the remaining suspects. He also saw a few members of the Muggle Obliviator squad and some locals hanging on the edge of the crime scene. They must have followed the Aurors Apparating to the island.

Pendrill broke the silence once again, turning his face full towards Harry. "It was not your fault, Harry," he said, finally saying what he wanted.

Harry simply looked at him. "I'll be at my office," Harry quietly said. "Sir." Harry nodded to his superior and with that Disapparated on the spot.


	4. Chapter 4

**HARRY POTTER AND THE NECKLACE OF MENAT **

Chapter Four

Harry returned to his office, wearily slumping down on his chair. He leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling. Blood was still rampaging in his veins and he was desperately trying to force it into a state of calmness. It would not do for him to be hexing the remaining suspects while they were under interrogation.

He opened his eyes and dropped his gaze back to the jewelry now lying innocently on his desk. The headdress he recognized at once as Egyptian, though the necklace he was not as certain. He remembered clearly how none of his, or any of his men's, spells seemed to affect the witch while she was wearing these things, no matter how much power he put in his spells. He thus realized that he just couldn't leave these things lying around, not even in the Department's Evidence Room, the security of which had always been highly suspect. He would have to consult Kingsley about it. In the meantime, Harry placed the items in his mokeskin for safekeeping.

He looked the time at Fabian Prewett's old watch, and wondered if the suspects had already been brought to the criminal holding cell at the tenth level. He needed to review first the statements his men would have extracted from them at the crime scene before he talked to any of them. That way, he would be able to watch out for any inconsistencies.

A few moments later, Kingsley dropped in and Harry gave him a much abbreviated version of the events of the past hour, though Harry rather suspected that Kingsley already knew everything. They agreed to wait for Dick Pendrill before they headed off to Howard's home to inform his wife of what had happened.

All throughout the interview, Harry kept quiet, allowing Kingsley and Pendrill to narrate everything they could to Howard's widow; after all, they were his superiors and knew Howard the longest. She did not say anything at all, either, as Kingsley and Pendrill spoke, though copious tears poured continuously down her face. Thankfully, there was no recrimination in her eyes directed at Harry. She knew that had Harry been able, he would have done everything to save her husband's life - that much her husband had told her of Harry's character. But even if Harry wanted to, he couldn't find it in himself to express the guilt and remorse he felt. It was only 'til later as they were about to leave that Harry finally found his voice to say "I'm sorry" as he gave her the vial of her husband's last memories as he had seen in Howard's mind, promising her access to a Pensieve anytime she wanted to view its contents.

When they returned to the Ministry, Harry threw himself into the case. Ice Bill and John Leechmen presented no mysteries; the DMLE already had records of their past misdeeds a large cauldron high. In this particular case though, they were no more than paid lackeys, hired to excavate and transport the body in the coffin. This was proven the moment the Aurors started their formal interrogation of the suspects. Harry let the other Aurors conduct the interview though, and merely observed the proceedings from the other side of the room where he half-sat, half-leaned against a table, his legs crossed, sifting through the suspects' files.

First in the line of fire was Ice Bill. A heavy-set wizard with crew-cut hair, he had been linked to a number of crimes before but there were simply no witnesses who could – or would - testify against him and so had remained scot-free. This was the first time that he was caught _en flagrante delicto _and Harry, taking no chances, assigned Eddie, a very tall, heavy-muscled wizard who looked more like a rugby player than an Auror, as part of the interrogation team. It turned out to be an astute decision on his part: at some point during the interview, when Ice Bill realized that he would be facing a long stretch in Azkaban for the attempted murder of at least two Aurors, he tried to strangle Matt, the Auror interviewing him, but Eddie clamped a hand on Ice Bill's offending arm and said in a slow, deadly voice "You really don't want to do that." Harry merely looked on.

The next interview with John Leechman was even more unproductive. All he kept saying was who was going to pay him now and whether or not he would be paid extra for having to fight against Aurors (which he did not, having dropped like a sack of potatoes at the first salvo of spells from the Aurors) because that had not been in the original agreement. When the Aurors performed the Priori Incantatem spell on his wand, majority of the spells they found were for the detection of anti-theft alarms or tests to determine whether a material was real, conjured, or _Geminioed_ gold. At one point though, Leechman allowed his thoughts to deviate away from galleons long enough to exclaim about the witch who hired them: "She was one fucking, loony bint, that witch was." And that was the end of his interrogation.

The moment the third suspect entered the room, however, Harry signaled to the other Aurors that he would do the interview himself. If anybody could give the Aurors answers, it would be this suspect. The two Aurors stepped back and exchanged places with Harry.

His name was Damien Rosier, come from a family of known Death Eaters. His eldest brother was killed by Mad-Eye Moody in the first war, while his two other brothers joined the Death Eaters soon after Voldemort's rebirth. Their bodies were later found among the dead in the grounds of Hogwarts after the Battle, trampled almost beyond recognition. It was one of these brothers - Garrick – whose corpse was in the coffin and that the witch, Galina Kondesjuk, had vainly tried to resurrect.

She was Garrick's common law wife. They met when Voldemort sent a group of his Death Eaters up north to hunt down Igor Karkaroff, Garrick among them. It was largely due to her help that the Death Eaters were able to find the traitorous former Death Eater. After Voldemort had killed him, Garrick joined the others and returned back to England. Months later, Galina appeared on the Rosiers' doorstep. She was Roma, a gypsy, and therefore quite powerful. The Romani never hid their magical abilities from Muggles, and as a people, never had any prohibitions against learning Dark Magic, only the use of them. But Garrick Rosier had never concealed to his family what he really thought of her: nothing more than a witch in his bed.

Three years prior, she came to Damien and claimed that she knew of a way that could bring his brother back to life. He had been skeptic but she said that it had been done before. Two wizards who should have been dead had come back to life: the Dark Lord and Harry Potter. And she knew the secret to do it, which Harry seriously doubted. As far as Harry and Dumbledore knew, what happened between himself and Voldemort was entirely unique in the entire history of magic, a one-off thing. Part of the self-sacrifice's magic was that it had to be a spontaneous thing, not something that had been planned ahead, or it would never have worked. Otherwise, Dumbledore would have told Harry earlier on that he would survive Voldemort's Killing Curse no matter what.

But Harry could not correct this mistaken notion without revealing a bit of what really happened between himself and Voldemort and he had no intention at all of giving a son of a known Death Eater family - or anyone else for that matter - any ideas.

But why do it, though? The witch Harry could understand, but the young man? Harry could not understand why he would agree to do such a thing, even if the deceased was his brother.

"You don't understand!" Damien Rosier cried. "You don't know how difficult it has been for me and my parents ever since my brothers died!"

"I'm sorry, but you'll find that I know perfectly well what it's like to lose your loved ones," Harry said coldly, staring directly at the suspect who sat across him at the table. "And none of them deserved the fate they were dealt with either."

Damien turned a crazed look at Harry, looking every bit a desperate animal.

"But it's been difficult! I had to drop out of Hogwarts. And my parents! You don't know about my parents!"

Harry did not answer. He just kept looking at the suspect.

"My dad, he's been taken ill. And my mum, she goes around the house asking me where my brothers are. It's like she doesn't even remember that they're already dead, that we've buried them years ago!"

When Harry still did not speak, Damien went on.

"And the money! We were left with no money! The ministry has taken all of our properties, our money in Gringotts, my own inheritance!"

"Because your brothers had been found to have also illegally acquired the financial assets of wizards and witches they had denounced to the Ministry for being Muggle-borns and for various other crimes which later were found to be baseless," Harry said.

"Still, you should have left us with something!" Rosier cried resentfully at Harry.

"Actually, there are still a lot more of the victims' possessions that remain unaccounted for to this day. Missing deeds, properties, and shareholders' titles. And we would have questioned you about them years ago if only you hadn't been a minor."

"Well, I haven't got them, have I? If I had, do you think I would be here now?"

"Where are they then?" Harry said, looking at the suspect closely.

The suspect did not answer. He turned his face down towards the floor but every aspect of his body language spelled defeat and Harry waited.

"I just wanted my parents to be taken care of," he said hoarsely.

"I promise you, if you help us return the properties to their rightful owners, then I will make sure that your parents are fully taken care of," Harry said and he meant it. There was no victory in keeping oppressed a couple of enfeebled, old people with decaying memories, no matter if one of them had been a known Death Eater and most likely had blood in his hands.

Damien lifted his gaze back up to Harry, looking Harry in the eye. He leaned forward a bit, as if trying to find a measure of something in Harry's eyes. At last he spoke.

"My brothers hid them so only they could get access to it. They did not trust my father, see. And they didn't trust me to hold my own against my father, either. And I suspect that they hid money from each other as well. Galina thought so, too."

Harry inwardly whistled. What a seriously messed up family.

"And Galina knew this? Knew about the money?"

"Yeah. My brother Garrick trusted her that way. He knew she would never betray him and would never run off with his money. He left her a sizeable amount of Galleons, in fact," Rosier added bitterly.

"But the money was not enough for her." Harry said. It was more a statement than a question.

"No. With her, it was never about the money. In fact, the money is still in the house. Everything. The papers, deeds, titles."

"How do you know about this?"

"Galina told me," Rosier said, making an indifferent shrug. "She promised to give me half of it - my other brother's half - if I help her resurrect Garrick. She needed my blood, you see. It has to be willingly given."

Willingly given. Chills ran down Harry's spine, Wormtail's words echoing in his head. This had to be where Voldemort picked up the original spell that he later adapted to reform his own body. Though completely unnerved, Harry continued interrogating the suspect in a detached voice.

"And the headdress and the necklace she was wearing? Where did she get them? Because I'm quite certain that those items did not come from the north."

Rosier waved off Harry's question as if it was the least important thing. "Her people had them for decades. She said they took it from some Muggle museum that had no idea what powerful magical items they were sitting on. But her people knew and exchanged the artifacts for harmless duplicates. They're Egyptian, the headdress and the necklace both. A year and a half ago she went back to her people to steal them. I don't know what they do exactly but she said she needed them for the ceremony to resurrect my brother. So, don't ask me okay?"

"And the house?"

"The house she and my brother lived in, the year before he died."

Harry returned to the files. He did not remember reading any mention of a house in Galina's files other than the Rosiers' family home.

"You won't find it there," he said, referring to the reams of parchment now laid open on the desk. "It's under a Fidelius Charm. And she was the Secret-Keeper."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "But you know where it is, right? And now that she's dead, you in turn would have been a Secret-Keeper along with anybody she has told of the address."

"But that's the trouble, isn't it?" His still-boyishly round face looked suddenly ugly with malicious glee that a monkey wrench had been thrown Harry's way. "When she placed the house under the Fidelius Charm, she never invited me back there again. We would always meet outside after that."

"But why would she do that?"

"It was because of your friend, Weasley. The one who's always in the papers," he said, and his face looked even uglier, if it were possible. And Harry could now clearly see the scion of a Death Eater family in him. "Apparently, he was the one who answered a Floo about the disturbance in the cemetery where my brother was buried. And when he found that my brother's remains were missing, he went to Galina's house to inform her of what happened. Her name was listed as the person to contact in case of an emergency in his official records..."

Harry turned to Matt, signaling him to check the records for that bit of information. Matt quietly slipped out of the room.

"... guess the Ministry still considered corpse-stealing as an emergency. Either that, or your friend really is as stupid as he looks."

Harry threw Rosier a sharp glance, his jaws angling.

"All the while he was talking to Galina he never twigged on the fact that it was on her orders that my brother's remains had been taken," Rosier continued, oblivious. "He didn't even realize how close he had been to dying that day. But she knew that if that blood-traitor went suddenly missing, you and that Mudblood girlfriend of his would not be far behind. If Galina hadn't recognized him from the papers - " He let his words hang in the air while drawing a finger across his neck.

Harry gritted his teeth and tried to stare calmly back at the suspect. The secretary taking the minutes of the interrogation turned an anxious face from Harry to the suspect while Eddie unfolded his crossed arms from his chest and stood straight, fully alert. They both were already working at the Auror Department the year Harry joined the Ministry and remembered clearly the times Harry had lost control of his magic. It was the time when the Ministry began uncovering the extent of the last regime's atrocities, like the group of Muggle-born children in a cell in Azkaban who had been given the Kiss by Dementors.

And now this suspect sat in front of Harry, gloating over the idea of Ron getting killed. Harry wanted nothing more than to wipe that smug look off the young man's face. Yet, at the same time, somewhere in the back of his mind, he had never been more thankful of what a pair of randy rabbits his best friends had become. Who knew it would one day saved Ron's life?

Just then, Matt returned and he handed Harry a scroll of parchments. It was the official Ministry record of Garrick Rosier. The space indicating the Person to Contact In Case of Emergency was now left blank. Harry ran a hand over the parchment and clearly felt the tingle of magic.

"You'll never find it, the house," Rosier said, leaning forward for emphasis. "Galina herself snuck into the Ministry to erase the records, see?"

Harry considered the suspect carefully.

"I could, if I wanted to," he said at length, his voice deceptively calm. "As a full-fledged _Legilimens_, I could easily wring the memory out of your mind."

"You wouldn't! You're not allowed!" Rosier cried, horrified. "It's illegal! And just for suggesting it, I could easily have you dismissed!" He turned to the two Aurors and the secretary. "You heard him right? He threatened me! "

But Matt spoke, addressing the secretary. "Melanie, could you please repeat the last entries please? Just the last."

"_Suspect Damien Rosier: You'll never find it, the house. Galina herself snuck into the Ministry to erase the records, see?_" the secretary promptly replied, without any mention of Harry's words.

Rosier turned a disbelieving look from one Ministry employee to another but they just looked calmly back at him.

After a while, Rosier shouted defiantly to the room. "I still have my memory of this!"

Once again Matt spoke, this time addressing Eddie.

"How're your Obliviating skills?"

"Eh," Eddie said, making a seesawing motion with his hands. "Might have to do it several times. But it would work in the end," he added with a nonchalant shrug.

"Mine's great," Matt said. "Ruddy kickass, if I say so myself."

Rosier began to splutter but said nothing more.

Harry himself kept quiet, then sat back, flipping through the suspect's files again. It didn't matter if they could not get Galina's address from Rosier. If Ron had filed a report on the case, chances were he had written the address somewhere. Now that the Secret-Keeper was dead and assuming Ron's report had remained untampered, it would be easier for Harry to extract the information he needed.

"I could cite you for murder," Harry said eventually without looking up.

"I never hurt anyone!" Rosier said indignantly.

"How about the pregnant witch? Don't tell me you didn't know about her?" Harry said, staring the suspect in the eyes.

"Leave her out of this!" Rosier shouted angrily.

His reaction puzzled Harry.

"Who was she then? The Ministry never received any report of a missing witch in the last couple of months, and we're sure that she was a witch."

"I said leave my girlfriend out of this!" Rosier shouted even more angrily this time. Then something clicked in his mind. "What do you mean _was_?" he demanded, straightening up. "What do you mean cite me for murder?! "

Harry looked at him, glanced at his colleagues, then back to Rosier.

"I said what do you mean _was_?!" Rosier demanded.

"Do you remember that last Shield that I couldn't break? Do you know what it was made of?" Harry asked.

"It was a Protective Shield," Rosier said, waving his hand impatiently.

"It was a Placental Shield." Harry said quietly.

A long, billowing silence ensued in which Rosier stared wide-eyed at Harry, blood draining from his face as the brutal realization dawned upon him.

"When did you last see your girlfriend?"

"Three weeks ago." Rosier said hoarsely. "Galina, she said we needed to hide my girlfriend until after my brother's been resurrected. She said we didn't need things to complicate matters, not this close to the ceremony. My girlfriend, she ran away from home last Christmas when she discovered she was pregnant. She has never gotten along with her parents since we got together." He ran a trembling hand through his hair, his anguished voice becoming hoarser still until it almost became a whisper. "I've already dropped out of Hogwarts and I couldn't bring her home. We're both purebloods. Galina volunteered to look after my girlfriend until I have enough money to marry her. She took my girlfriend home with her." Abruptly he stood up and made as if he was going to run out of the room. The two Aurors immediately stood to attention but Harry remained seated, following Rosier's movements with his eyes. For where was Damien going to go? _When_? He was two weeks too late. Then the young man started to sway. He feebly clawed at the air, his eyes unseeing. Then he collapsed down on the floor, weeping, a completely broken man at seventeen.

Harry stood up, all his previous anger gone. He looked down at the crumpled form of Damien Rosier, knowing the young man was completely, utterly defeated and Harry could not derive any satisfaction from it. It was Regulus all over again, a young man who had gotten himself into a situation way over his head and consequently paid a steep price. Harry glanced at his men, nodded to them and turned to leave. He had nothing more to do here.

Harry went back to his and Ron's office. He rummaged through the files on Ron's desk marked "Pending" and "Closed" but could not find any relating to Garrick Rosier. Although officially it was against the rules for Aurors to discuss the details of cases outside the force, Harry knew Ron would sometimes sound Hermione out on cases he was working on. They both did. Hermione's incisive intellect served to point out aspects of a case that otherwise would have escaped Ron's and Harry's notice. It was possible that Ron brought the case files with him. Anyway, even if Ron had brought the files home to Grimmauld, Ron's and Hermione's room was sacrosanct. Harry would never dream of violating their room for whatever reason.

Looking at the time, he saw it was past two in the morning. He had completely missed Ginny's game but overheard in the Ministry halls that her team had won. He thought to hold off going to the Burrow 'til early the next morning to try and find out from Mrs. Weasley where his two friends might have gone. Missing a major game of Ginny's would have required an elaborate lie on Ron's part. Harry was hoping to fish out the truth from the excuse Ron would have given Mrs. Weasley in an effort to throw anyone off his and Hermione's whereabouts.

Though ostensibly it was on account of the current case that Harry would be looking for his friends, deep down Harry knew he just wanted to reassure himself that his friends were all right. Anyway, he missed Mrs. Weasley, as well. It had been too long since he had last seen her. He was also secretly hoping to find out from her if Ginny was seeing anyone right now. And if Ginny was single again, then he could attend the victory dinner at the Burrow later in the evening. Lord knew he was in desperate need of a breath of goodness after having such a dire weekend. With that hopeful thought, Harry finally left the office for Grimmauld.

~•~

Ginny was carefully climbing down the stairs of the Burrow, dressed in an off-white floral cocktail dress. Its sleeveless cut showed off her clear, smooth skin and well-toned arms to perfection, while her long red hair hung loosely down her back. Her team had won the third semi-finals game against the Kestrels this afternoon and she was required to attend the after-game victory party. Upon entering the kitchen she noticed the floor was covered in flour, her mum bent over the oven. Mrs. Weasley straightened up and turned around as she felt someone entering the room.

"Ginny! You look beautiful!" her mum exclaimed, a broad smile on her face as she took in Ginny's appearance.

Ginny smiled. "Mum, what's all this?" she said, carefully stepping over the flour-ridden floor. There was not a foot to step on that was not covered in flour and she was afraid that any more of it would get on her shoes.

"Oh, dear, I'm sorry," said Mrs. Weasley, sounding a bit harassed, wiping her hands on her apron, "I'm afraid I've made a bit of a mess. I was just trying to put in a last bit of baking for tomorrow's breakfast, you know."

Ginny made to extract her wand from her small bag to clean the mess but her mum stopped her.

"Oh, don't bother Ginny. I'll clean that up later. I still have a lot of clearing up to do anyway."

"How come you're cooking this late anyway?" It was already eight-thirty in the evening and she, her mum, and dad had already eaten their dinner hours ago.

"Well, you remembered I told you about the Wilcox–Scudamore wedding?"

"Oh yeah. That's tomorrow then?" How could Ginny not remember? The bride was a Muggle-born witch incarcerated by the last regime. She was found severely tortured in Azkaban soon after the war and had been bed-ridden for three years. But her half-blood boyfriend never left her side and patiently nursed her back to health. Her mum met both parties in the course of her volunteer work for war victims. Ginny couldn't help feeling a mite jealous, wishing she had someone for whom she could have shown such devotion.

"Yes. Your father and I are taking the car."

"You're driving?" Her mum was referring of course to the Ford Anglia that her dad, Harry, and a Muggle-born working at the Ministry, a son of a garage mechanic, had restored from a mere shell Harry had found on the _internets_ a year after the war. Ginny had always regretted not being there all those Sundays that Harry had been at her home every Sunday working on the car. The project had started months before she graduated from Hogwarts but she had already been drafted into the Holyhead Harpies after Gryffindor's win in the Quidditch finals that year; soon as the school term ended, she was whisked off to the Harpies' training camp in Anglesey, Wales. Even now, she still fantasized about bringing Harry snacks as they worked on the car - if only she could have been allowed to do just that much for him, Ginny inwardly sighed.

"Oh, yes. The bride's family is Muggle, after all. The entire wedding will be strictly Muggle, as a matter of fact. Besides, you know your father. He won't let any opportunity to use the Ford go by. I swear, if I didn't know any better, I would say your father is starting to care more about that car than he does for me."

"But you do know better, Mum," Ginny said, noting the expression on her mum's face. She approached her mum and brushed the few strays of hair off her mum's face. Ginny realized with a jolt of grief how her mum seemed to have more grey hairs than last she had seen, but she kept her face impassive. Instead, she placed a tender kiss on her mother's cheek. "You work too hard," she whispered. She stepped back and turned her face away from her mum trying to tamp down the uncalled-for emotion that suddenly welled up in her. "Where's dad, anyway?" she said in as normal a voice as she could muster, looking around the tiny kitchen as if expecting her dad to materialize.

"Well, we have a long drive tomorrow and he took in an early night."

Ginny turned back to her mother. "You should too," she said kindly.

"Well, as soon as this batch's finished, I promise to go to bed as well," Mrs. Weasley said, gesturing towards the oven.

"What are you making anyway?"

"Your favorites." Ginny knew her mum was not only referring to her but to her nieces and nephews as well. It had become a tradition in the Weasley home to celebrate the Harpies' wins on the Sunday following, and not the evening of, the match. Because that was the only time that most of the family could be gathered, except for the Aurors (yes, Harry would always be considered part of the family) who kept odd working hours, and sometimes Bill, whom Gringotts still called upon to do fieldwork from time to time. "Chocolate and orange brioches."

"Yum." Ginny said, laughing. They really were her favorites.

"Just in case Percy and Bill arrive early, though I don't expect them to come in until later tomorrow afternoon," her mum went on. "At least I know the children will have something to munch on."

"You spoil us too much, mum," Ginny said, embracing Mrs. Weasley.

"By the way, will you be heading back here after the party?" Mrs. Weasley said, pulling back.

"Yes, mum. But don't wait up. I'll let myself in and close up after myself." Ginny never really felt comfortable in the Harpies' players' dormitories. Her teammates often brought strange men to the flat Ginny shared with them and she felt especially uneasy during those times. That was why, outside of the games, Ginny spent as much time at the Burrow as she did in her Harpies flat.

"If you wake up tomorrow and your dad and I have already left, I'll leave some breakfast for you in the larder, ok?"

"Yes mum." And Ginny kissed her mother goodbye and left for the party.

Fifteen minutes into the party and Ginny was already bored beyond catatonia. If it had not been compulsory for players to attend the party, she wouldn't have been here at all. Alone in one corner of the manor where the party was being held she stood while the rest of her teammates, still high with the euphoria of their win that afternoon, flitted around and flirted with almost every wizard in the room. Ginny, not wanting to give the impression that she too was on the prowl, kept herself in the sidelines quietly sipping her butterbeer (she never took a glass of alcoholic drink especially when out on her own, not after witnessing some witches make such a fool of themselves in public - her mum would bury her alive!). Besides, Ginny was not interested in jumping into another relationship so soon after she had gotten out of one.

Three weeks before, someone sent her compromising pictures of her boyfriend with not just one, but several, women. These affairs must be recent because in most of them he was wearing either a cap or shirt she had given him.

She met Philip at George's store in Diagon Alley. He was a half-blood whose father worked as a representative of the British wizard Ministry and thus had spent most of his life abroad completely untouched by the last war. With money from both his parents, he had put up a Muggle appliance and gadget store that he later established branches of in several countries. At the time they met, he was negotiating for Weasley Wizards' Wheezes to carry, on consignment basis, a few electronic gadgets adapted for wizard-use.

Having lived in gadget-crazy countries as the US and Japan, Philip was able to find items he could sell that supposedly work in magical environments (to a limited extent). His main market were the Muggle-borns who missed their gadgets and Muggle-provided entertainments. Ron, in a surprising gesture of thoughtfulness, bought Hermione a computer so she could email her parents and do research on the _internets_ but found to his wretched annoyance that they could never make it work, not in Grimmauld Place anyway. As it turned out, the gadgets and appliances would work only in homes with extremely low amounts of magic and not in places like the Burrow, especially when all the Weasleys were gathered together there, and certainly never in the house where Harry-Potter-effing-lived. In other words, the items would only work in Muggle-born homes, where ordinary appliances and gadgets already functioned well enough. Ron wanted to demand a refund, but as Ginny was already seeing Philip at that time, could not.

That there should have been Ginny's first clue. No, scratch that. That should have been the second. She should have known that, although Philip looked every bit good on paper, the moment she introduced him to Bill and Bill only gave her new boyfriend a perfunctory greeting, that Philip was not someone she could be with for much longer. Bill was an excellent judge of character; you have to be if you were an ace Gringotts Curse Breaker. When your job involved judging whether the next brick you were about to step on or the next corner you were about turn around would suddenly unleash your doom, you develop a sixth sense that spills on your dealings with people.

But Ginny guessed she was taken in with, first, Philip's looks (coz he was certainly a lot of eye candy) and then his polish. She always admired that Philip always seemed to move and speak with deliberation – not a word or step out of turn (nor a hair, as George lately would say). It reminded her of someone she knew who similarly moved in a highly self-assured and deliberate manner. She should have known though that Philip's brand of self-possession was nothing more than an act, mere appearance, something he would have learned from his diplomat father and very posh mother. And when Ginny confronted him with the pictures, he did not even have the balls to own up to what he did, even when the evidence was staring him in the face in various states of undress. It was only the threat of Ginny's infamous Bat-Bogey Hex that made him leave Ginny's Harpies' flat but not without assuring Ginny first that their relationship was far from over. As if a fuckwit like him could ever threaten her, her who not even the Carrows could cow into submission nor Bellatrix Lestrange scare away from a fatal duel.

But what really was annoying Ginny tonight - and she would never admit it to anyone - was the fact that Ron and Hermione had taken off again, leaving Harry alone at Grimmauld Place. Didn't Hermione herself claim that those times she and Ron had taken time off on their own was when Harry himself would be out for the rest of the weekend? Soon after, rumors of Harry being seen in the company of women all over Muggle Britain would surface (as Harry was quite well known to families of Muggle-borns). And it would send the reporters into a frenzy of Harry-hunting, for it afforded the wizarding world a glimpse of Harry's highly secretive lovelife.

And now Ron and Hermione had gone and left Harry again, running him off into the arms of another woman. Ginny had half a mind to rush to Grimmauld Place herself that moment wearing nothing but the skimpiest lingerie under her witch's robes, seduce Harry and be done with it. If she couldn't have a deep, meaningful relationship with him, then she'd settle for a purely sexual one, if that was all he wanted and all he could give. At least she'd finally have an idea of what everyone was going on about sex and be able to participate knowledgeably whenever talk about sex broke among her teammates and friends. And more importantly, she'd get to kiss Harry, that she'd be in a closer relationship with him now, not the nodding acquaintances they seemed to have been reduced to.

Ginny was thus busy imagining various scenarios of her seducing Harry when someone suddenly grabbed her by the elbow.

"Ginny, we need to talk." It was Philip.

Ginny immediately saw red. _How dare he intrude upon her delectable Harry fantasies?!_

"What are you doing here?" Ginny said, louder than she had intended.

"You invited me, remember?"

"But that was weeks ago. I've already asked that your name be taken off the invited guests list," Ginny said, trying to pull her arm away from Philip who still hadn't let go of his hold on her.

"Well, the guards in front let me in, anyway. They recognized me, you know, _your boyfriend_," he smirked, emphasizing the last two words.

"Boyfriend, my arse! We broke up weeks ago, remember? And where are those Aurors anyway?" Ginny said, stretching her neck to look around the room. Because of Ron, she could recognize most of them by sight, but her short stature prevented her from seeing over the heads of the other people in the room. Normally, there would be one or two Aurors overseeing security in these events.

"Look, Ginny. Just let's talk, okay?" Philip pleaded, pulling her nearer to him by the arm.

Ginny looked at him coolly. "What is there to talk about? I've seen enough. We're done."

"I told you, those pictures aren't real. Someone doctored them up," he said, still not letting go. People nearby were starting to stare at them and the last thing Ginny needed was for an article to appear in the tabloids of her having a spat with Philip.

"I don't understand what Muggle Healers have anything to do with those pictures but you sure were wearing the shirt I gave you three months ago in one of them!" Ginny tried to say so that only she and Philip could hear.

"_Doctored_! Not real! Whoever sent those pictures to you is just trying to make trouble!"

But Ginny had had enough. She violently wrenched her arm away from him. She was not interested in whatever excuses Philip was going to say. The truth of the matter was, the entire affair clearly had the mark of her brothers' hands in it. She knew that over the past six weeks, all her brothers, except for Charlie, had done a bit of travelling abroad in countries where Philip was at the same time. They must have known something had been going on behind her back but would not say anything directly to her face - that would only tend to get her hackles up and she'd end up defending Philip instead.

Ginny turned her back to Philip, walking towards the balcony which was less crowded than where she had been standing. Philip followed her.

"It's your fault, you know!" he hissed into her ear the moment they were alone. They were now standing on the balcony that opened into the massive grounds. "If only you'd been a proper girlfriend to me, then I wouldn't have to turn to other women."

Ginny whipped around to face him. "So now it's my fault?"

"Well, it's certainly not just mine."

Ginny stared at him incredulously. "You really are something, you know that?"

"Look, Ginny," Philip said, lifting a hand in supplication, "why don't we just talk about it? I'm sure we could still work out whatever problems we might have had."

"Work it out?! Work it out?!" Ginny was screaming hysterically now. "You cheated on me with not one, but several women!"

"But how can you blame me?" Philip was screaming just as angrily now. "I'm a man! I'm young! And I have needs! Needs that it's your duty to fulfill!"

"My duty? Philip, I told you, right from the start that I'm not ready for that kind of relationship, yet. Right from the beginning, I've told you! I have never pretended that it was something that you could expect from me anytime soon. I've never once led you on!"

"Well, if you're not going to put out, what good are you as a girlfriend, then?"

Ginny stood staring. She felt like she had just been slapped. But she also felt somewhat guilty. She knew she was getting a reputation for being a cock tease. But what she could do? She could never imagine herself sleeping with anyone other than...

Just then, Sylvie, Ginny's flatmate and Beater on the Harpies team, peeked her head in through the long, white curtains hanging from the doors. Ginny and Philip both turned their heads towards her. She must have noticed them earlier and came to investigate. Sylvie knew everything about Ginny's relationship with Philip and probably suspected Ginny's true feelings for Harry as well, though she had never commented on it.

"Everything all right there, Ginny?" Sylvie said, carefully surveying them.

"Everything's fine," Ginny said, though her body was slightly trembling - from anger, she decided.

"If you need me, I'll just be here." Sylvie said, her face inscrutable, but Ginny knew that Sylvie would be staying just a few feet away, ready to act in case there was any trouble. Not that Ginny needed any help. Between her and Philip, she knew exactly who would come out the worse if their argument suddenly ended up in an exchange of spells, not that she'd fight with a man unless she had to. This thought served to calm Ginny down.

Ginny turned back to Philip. "I think you should leave," she quietly said.

Philip looked at her. He seemed to be breathing more heavily than usual.

"This is not over, Ginny," he said at last. "I'll find out who sent you those pictures, and, believe me, he's going to regret ever thinking that he could fuck with me."

Then he walked back out the way they'd come, staring straight ahead. Ginny watched him go, feeling nothing. Their relationship had had promise but she wondered if it ever really had a chance to go anywhere at all. A vivid image of Harry rose in her mind.

A few seconds later, Sylvie appeared once again in the doorway and walked over to where Ginny was standing. She was a few years older than Ginny, and a good several inches taller too, with black hair and white skin. Anybody who had known Sirius frequently said that she reminded them of him. Sylvie handed Ginny a glass of alcoholic drink. Ginny raised an eyebrow.

"You know I don't drink."

Sylvie equally raised a slim eyebrow of her own. "After dealing with that troll? You know you need one."

So Ginny took the proffered glass and knocked back the entire drink.

Sylvie laughed. "For someone who claims to never drink any kind of alcoholic beverage, you sure drink like a fish."

"As you've said, I needed it," Ginny retorted.

Sylvie closely examined Ginny's face. "You okay, Ginny?

"I'm fine." Ginny said, though she felt a slight headache coming on, probably from the tension of her encounter with Philip. "I just didn't expect him to be such an arse, you know?"

"I know," Sylvie said sympathetically and started rubbing her back.

Ginny looked down at the empty glass she was holding and then she looked up at Sylvie, smiled apologetically and said, "Sorry, I finished off your drink."

"It's nothing. There's plenty more at the bar. C'mon, let's get hammered." She draped an arm over Ginny's shoulder and steered the younger witch back inside the mansion.

"You know I can't get drunk, Sylvie," Ginny said, protesting.

"Don't worry. I'll make sure you get home safe to mummy," Sylvie said, laughing, and Ginny, laughing herself, playfully pushed her friend away.

~•~


	5. Chapter 5

HARRY POTTER AND THE NECKLACE OF MENAT

Chapter 05

_Kill me now._

Ginny moved sluggishly, trying to claw her way back into consciousness. Her head and body felt so heavy that she had difficulty even lifting her eyes a fraction, her mouth so cottony yet so parched that her throat felt as hard as cement. Her entire body ached right through the bones. She felt she had already died and been revived only to be killed over and over again. And worst, worst of all, was the cleaving headache that seemed to tear apart her very being.

Where was she? With what little sense her body had, she tried to feel her surroundings but felt only familiar comfort. But then she felt a certain thrumming, an energy in the air, slight but palpable. What was it? She realized as well that her heart was pounding so fast and quite forcefully against her chest that she was surprised she didn't already die from her erratic heartbeat. She tried to open her eyes but felt a stab of pain hit her and she quickly shut them up. But it was enough for her to realize that she was in her room at the Burrow, the sunlight permeating the room through the windows telling her it was daytime. She trawled the edges of her mind for the last thing she remembered but drew a blank.

And the thirst. Ginny realized that it was the thing that woke her up. She didn't think she could last another minute more without quenching the overpowering thirst. She had never felt so physically ill, so helpless, not even when Voldemort took her body over. She wanted to die just to end her suffering. And she cried, inwardly she cried. She cried like a helpless child for anyone to come help her. Mum. She needed her mum.

But what if nobody came? Ginny had to get up, if only to quench the thirst that seemed to be draining her body of every drop of water. Dimly she knew that if she didn't get any fluid in her body soon, her brain would shut down and she would lose consciousness and there would be no waking up from that.

She had to get up.

Knowing that her body would simply not cooperate, she started drawing on her magic to help her do what was needed. To her surprise, she realized that the low-thrumming of energy she was feeling was her own magic. It must have been made unstable by what was happening to her body. She could feel, now that she was aware of it, the uneven patches of magic in the air and that a few strands of her long red hair were being lifted by magical static, caressing her face.

By sheer power of will, Ginny began pulling back to herself her own runaway magic and channeling it to her muscles. Though Ginny learned it indirectly through Hermione their last year in Hogwarts, it was a skill that those who were privileged enough to belong in Harry's inner circle had learned: how to use your magic instinctively and manipulate it as packets of energy, though none of them could remotely approach the ease with which Harry did it.

Harry. He was never, ever far from her thoughts, not really, and though her body still felt bone-heavy, the mere thought of him energized Ginny further.

Slowly, very slowly, Ginny regained control of her muscles. She felt stronger, too, until at length she felt she could move. She opened her eyes and by so doing full cognition returned. She tried to swallow but her throat remained painfully constricted. She also realized that except for her knickers, she was wearing absolutely nothing. In a house full of boys, two of which had been incorrigible pranksters and the youngest, a complete uncouth git who recognized no boundaries when it came to Ginny's privacy, she had learned long ago to never sleep with so little clothes on.

Her entire body trembling, Ginny tried sitting up but found she still lacked the strength in her upper body to lift herself up. Finally she rolled onto her side and, propping herself up on an elbow, was able to push her body up from the bed. She looked around her room which she normally kept tidy and clean no matter how tired she was or how late it got, and there, scattered on the floor, were the clothes, shoes and bag she must have been wearing last.

Ginny inched sideways along the edge of the bed to be able to reach the small bag where she would have kept her wand and sighed with relief when she found it inside. She still could not remember what happened to her but the moment she saw the dress on the floor, she remembered going to the Harpies' victory game. She was not exactly sure though if it had been the previous night. She thought of calling her mum, but even drawing the breath to form words seemed to be a task too difficult for her.

Using her wand, she magicked upon herself her favorite kimono dressing gown - she just didn't have the energy to move around and dress herself up. She tested her legs to see if they could support her weight, then, tentatively, she stood up. Her legs were shaking a bit but she found that she had enough strength to walk on her own steam, for which she was thankful, not trusting herself to use any more magic in case it went wonky on her.

Step by slow inches step, she made her way towards the loo just across the hall from her room, first grabbing onto the edge of the bed then later bracing a hand against the walls for support. When she finally reached the loo, she brushed her teeth and washed her mouth three times before she deemed her mouth clean enough, only then did she drink water directly from the tap. She must have drunk about two liters worth of water straight before she felt she had enough. But the moisture refreshed her and Ginny felt infinitely better, at least the trembling in her muscles had gone though her head still felt like a leaded weight.

Ginny then splashed water on her face, letting the liquid cool her. She straightened up and with her wet hands combed her long tresses back. Staring at her reflection in the mirror, her eyes were a bit sunken and her skin flushed and blotchy. She furrowed her forehead in confusion. What happened? She had never before gotten this drunk. In fact, she had never gotten drunk at all, period. She had never touched the damned stuff, especially when she attended a function alone. And she was sure she went to the Harpies' victory party quite alone last night. She vaguely remembered talking to her mum and leaving. She and Philip had broken up weeks ago. Philip. There was something about Philip that she couldn't quite put a finger on. She made a mental shake. There was no hope of trying to figure that one out with her head feeling so torpid.

Snatches of her conversation with her mum returned to her and Ginny realized that her mum and dad must have already left for the Herefordshire wedding. Ginny sighed. There went her only hope for a hangover cure.

_I am never gonna be piss-ass drunk again_, Ginny avowed. She could never imagine putting herself into such torment again. She knew there was a reason why she avoided the things.

A faint knocking echoed from the floor below. "Mrs. Weasley?" the muffled voice of someone decidedly male called out.

_Blast it!_ It sounded like Harry!

She heard the kitchen door open. "Mrs. Weasley?" the voice called out, louder, and this time there was no mistaking that it was Harry. Besides, there were very few people who could pass through the wards of the Burrow and call in unannounced, and Harry was one of those select few.

Bugger and blast it! Ginny didn't want him to see her in her monged out state. But this was the first time in years that she would be able to speak alone with him - she was not going to waste the opportunity. She knew she couldn't tarry, Harry might leave any moment. With a last look at her reflection in the mirror, Ginny squared her shoulders, and walked determinedly down the stairs.

~o~

Harry stood just outside the Apparition point of the Burrow. Though he knew he didn't need a reason to visit and could just pop in unannounced and still be welcomed, he couldn't help but feel nervous.

He rehearsed once again in his head the things he wanted to ask Mrs. Weasley, though he still did not know how to go asking about Ginny without making his interest too obvious. There was also the matter of Damien Rosier mentioning something about being unable to bring his girlfriend home because they were purebloods and the comment mystified him. Though he was fully immersed now in the wizarding world, there were still certain aspects of it that remained unknown to Harry. Most of which involved obscure laws and traditions that applied mainly to purebloods, or, as was the usual case, the purebloods were the only ones willing to observe. Like divorce, for instance, which Harry learned was an uncommon practice in the Wizarding world. Thus, certain pureblood couples, instead of divorcing, resort to, uhm, rather "unconventional" means of disposing an unwanted spouse. That was why wizards like Ice Bill never needed to join the Death Eaters. He had more or less a steady source of income.

But that was during Cornelius Fudge's era, before Voldemort's downfall. No one could easily get away with murder now.

From where he stood Harry could not see Ginny's room but in his mind's eye he could perfectly envision the curtains billowing in and out of her room's open windows. Not for the very first time since deciding early that morning to come here, Harry wondered if Ginny were home. He knew sometimes Ginny would spend time away from her Harpies' dormitory and keep her parents company at the Burrow, especially during Quidditch's off season. He began considering ways he could talk to her alone if she were, although to do so under Mrs. Weasley's watchful eyes would require him to use every bit of cunning he had to hide from her his real intentions.

Harry nervously tried to flatten his hair anew. He had been wrestling with the accursed thing the entire morning to no avail. Despite the years, his hair had remained as unruly as ever. He also had dressed himself carefully in a black peacoat jacket, grey shirt, and black denim jeans and his ever present dragon hide boots before coming here, just in case Ginny was there. Pushing his eyeglasses up his nose, Harry took a deep breath and marched towards the back door of the Burrow where he knew Mrs. Weasley would likely be.

Harry softly knocked on the door, peering through the top half of the screen door of the open backdoor into the Burrow's kitchen. "Mrs. Weasley?" Harry called out. For the past several years Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had been trying to make Harry call them Arthur and Molly, or even Dad and Mum, had he a mind to. Hermione had already done so, even slipping into calling Mrs. Weasley "mum" sometimes, which, of course, pleased Mrs. Weasley no end and made her more tolerant of Ron and Hermione's behavior than she would have been otherwise. But not Harry. "Arthur" and "Molly" felt too familiar, too disrespectful, while "Dad" and "Mum" invoked a deep-seated yearning in him that had less to do with him growing up an orphan and more with the fact that he was deeply in love with their only daughter.

No one was about, but he knew someone must be inside; otherwise, the door would not have been left open, although Harry would like to see the wizards or witches that could break through the Burrow's wards. All the men in the family, plus him and Hermione, had each contributed to the Burrow's protections, especially since most of the time Mrs. Weasley was left all alone in the house. It had been quite the learning experience for Harry, watching Charlie install wards normally used only in dragon enclaves such as could be found where Charlie worked. Indeed, it had been quite the sight to behold - the most powerful wizards and witches of their age all working together to build the Burrow's protective wards.

Harry opened the door and stepped inside the house. Perhaps Mrs. Weasley was upstairs.

"Mrs. Weasley?" He called out again, louder this time. And then his heart stopped, for his eyes had just strayed towards the family clock. Both Mr. and Mrs. Weasleys' hands were pointed to _Travelling_ but Ginny's were on _Home_. He knew it could also mean that Ginny was in her Harpies' flat but who else could be at the Burrow this time? Ron's clock hands were moving erratically round its face as if it could not make up its mind where to point. All the other Weasley children would still be at each of their homes this early Sunday morning and would only arrive later for the traditional Harpies-victory-cum-traditional-Sunday-family dinner. That would mean he and Ginny were entirely alone in the house.

Harry's heart gave a wild leap of joy. He mentally crossed his fingers. _Oh, let her be single again. Let her not have a boyfriend this time. _He wondered how he would ease that topic into the conversation. Then he heard movement upstairs. Someone was coming down.

~o~

"Harry?" Ginny called out just as she was coming through the door into the kitchen. Her heart seized up. There stood Harry. _Her_ Harry. It had been a long time since she had last seen him this close. She had completely forgotten how devastatingly handsome he could be, with his wild unruly hair, his well-defined face, his green eyes, and his de rigueur black ensemble. Had she known she would see Harry today, she would have skipped altogether the game yesterday, and instead spent the whole day in a beauty spa like Fleur did sometimes, having her body scrubbed raw, her hair and nails done. She would have bought an entirely new wardrobe as well. Next to him looking so swanky, Ginny felt slightly grotty indeed.

"Hey, Gin," Harry said, his accompanying smile so open, so carefree.

"Hey, Harry," Ginny said, smiling herself. Suddenly she had the overwhelming urge to kiss him in greeting. Every female in her family did it all the time. Even Audrey, Percy's wife, could kiss Harry without reserve. Yet Ginny knew Harry the longest, that is, she saw him first - well, along with her mum. She should have first dibs when it came to kissing Harry. So why should she not claim that privilege?

So Ginny, walking up to him, did something she had always wanted to do but until now had been unable. Ginny didn't even give Harry time to react, afraid he might pull back. She placed a hand on his arm and he instinctively bent down his head so she could reach his face: at her five feet two inches height, Harry was a good eleven inches taller than she was.

It was the briefest of kisses, but Ginny felt more, so much more, in that kiss than she had ever felt from all the kisses she had ever shared with her ex-boyfriends, not even her very first kiss. She pulled back to look up at him. "This is a surprise," she said, still smiling.

"Sorry. Is this a bad time? It's just, I'm looking for Ron." That he was surprised at her gesture Harry did not show.

Ginny raised an eyebrow then glanced significantly at the family clock where Ron's hands were still moving erratically. She turned her face back to Harry.

"Harry, you of all people should know better than to look for your two best friends when they soooo don't wanna be found. Anyway, are you really prepared to deal with what you might see when you finally come upon those two?" Ginny teased him.

Harry laughed. "Good point. Unfortunately, I really need to see Ron." A cloud seemed to pass over Harry's face, but it was so brief that Ginny thought she had imagined it.

"So, why are you so desperate to see Ron? I understand they'll be back by tomorrow. What could be so important that you couldn't wait 'til then?"

Harry did not reply immediately. He merely stood there for a while, watching her. He seemed to be debating something in his mind. Then, without a word, he pulled out from under his shirt the mokeskin Ginny knew he constantly wore upon his neck. Then he pulled two pieces of jewelry from it.

"It's because of these," Harry finally said, offering up for her inspection the two items. The headdress with the horns and a sundisk in the middle. The necklace with a golden plate, counterweighted with beads made of various precious stones.

"The headdress and necklace of Menat?" Ginny asked, surprised, for she instantly recognized the artifacts.

"You know what these are?"

"Of course. They're identified with the Egyptian goddess Hathor, that's the Muggles' name for an ancient witch called Menat." She rolled her eyes. "Most of the ancient Muggle gods and goddesses were nothing more than witches and wizards who loved to camp it up in front of Muggles." Ginny leaned in closer to look at the items Harry was holding out in his hands then back up to Harry. "How come you have these anyway? Not thinking of opening a costume jewelry shop, are you, Potter?" she said with a wicked gleam in her eyes.

"You know I can't stop being an Auror, Ginny. Who would guard you against your hordes of admirers?" he said, his eyes crinkling with amusement.

Ginny merely smiled at Harry's comment, not trusting herself to speak. She didn't even want to consider the possibility that Harry was flirting with her because she didn't want to get her hopes up. The truth was, her heart was hammering against her chest something fierce and she was sure Harry would hear it. She couldn't believe that she was here with him having a casual conversation – as if they were friends. She wasn't used to standing this close to Harry either. Most of the time it felt like he always avoided her, particularly in her fifth year when it had gotten so bad she wondered whether he blamed her for Sirius's death. That maybe if she hadn't put her unqualified support behind him, Harry would not have rushed to the Ministry and Sirius would have still been alive. It had been a puzzle, Harry's attitude towards her during those days, that until now bedevil her. She even wondered if her brothers hadn't put a spell on her so that she would look like a hag or smell like a troll whenever Harry saw her because her brothers knew that if ever she was in danger of losing it all to any bloke, it would be Harry: she had long ago lost her heart to him and it certainly wouldn't take much for the rest of her to follow.

Ginny turned her attention back to the artifacts, genuinely becoming fascinated. The sundisk headdress was still slightly glowing. "They look so exquisite. I've never seen such quality of workmanship on these items before, not even Tutankhamun's. Where did you get these from anyway?" she said, looking up to him.

Harry merely looked at her and smiled, a bit sadly, Ginny thought. She understood enough about the nature of his work - and indeed about Harry's own nature - to not pry.

"Do they do anything? Are they magical then?" Ginny said, testing for safer topics.

"A bit."

Ginny's eyes grew larger. "Harry, do you think that these might be real? I mean, that these really belonged to Menat? Ancient wizards were supposed to be really powerful. I mean just look at the –" Ginny was about to refer to the Elder wand and Harry's Invisibility Cloak but stopped herself. It was a topic the trio never openly discussed with anybody, not even with her family. "I mean, perhaps as powerful as you," Ginny almost mumbled.

Harry considered Ginny's face for a long time before he spoke. Ginny could not fathom the expression on his face though. "I think so. It's possible."

"Well, blow me! I mean - " Ginny stammered and deeply reddened, realizing the double meaning of her words but Harry merely chuckled. Ginny turned around looking for something to do but could find nothing. "Have you eaten? Have you had breakfast?" Ginny said self-consciously, in a thinly-veiled attempt to dispel the awkward moment that had followed. She felt full herself, perhaps from all the water she drank.

"I'm fine." It seemed to Ginny that there was just a tad note of hilarity in Harry's voice but she didn't at all feel offended. She actually felt happy to learn that she could make Harry smile. How many times had she heard Hermione say how Harry could be so surly at times, especially when an operation went awry, that Ron would end up calling him "Grumpy-pants" and Harry would retaliate by calling Ron "flasher fitz" to which Ron would just grin broadly until Harry threw a pillow on his head and the two would end up wrestling and laughing on the floor very much like the two overgrown boys that they were. Hermione was so used to it that she would just let the two boys have at it while she calmly sat nearby reading a book.

But neither could Ginny lift her head to face Harry again, mortified to have uttered such a word when already her body was humming with so much awareness of him the moment her lips touched his cheek. Thus, it was really more because of guilt than embarrassment that she bent her head down, hiding behind the curtain of her long red hair. Oh, why did he have such an effect on her? I'm a grown woman, for Merlin's sake! She thought she could feel his eyes following her every move but she absolutely refused to acknowledge it.

"Ginny?" Ginny turned around as Harry said her name, and saw his eyes were rimpled, his lips curved upwards into a lazy smile.

Just so she could function and stop herself reverting back to the mute eleven-year old version of herself, Ginny turned her attention back to the jewelry. "But what can they do?" she asked as if the last few minutes had not occurred.

"Actually, that's why I'm here. I was hoping to find out exactly how these things are used."

She looked at the items with fresh interest. "Hathor. Hathor. The little that I know came mostly from Muggle sources because Menat left the wizarding world to live among them. She's one of the most ancient goddesses, you know, that's why there were so many powers attributed to her." Ginny began listing off the top of her head whatever she could remember of the Egyptian goddess. "Let's see. Goddess of love, fertility, childbirth, foreign lands, drinking. Protrectress of pregnant women…." She turned to Harry and raised an eyebrow at him. But Harry did not rise to the bait, his eyes still crinkled in amusement. She went on. "She was also known as the Lady of the West, the goddess of the dead." Ginny turned to Harry, her eyes dancing with amusement. "You haven't been nosing around tombs lately, have you Harry?"

"Not tombs, no." Harry said quietly and there it was again, the tone of sadness in his voice.

Ginny backtracked and went back to the artifacts. "The headdress was a symbol of her power. It was in the shape of cow's horns because that was her Animagus form. But the necklace was a ceremonial instrument, not really meant to be worn. Muggles often left one in their loved ones' coffins because Hathor was supposed to help conduct the deceased into the land of Tuat, the land of the dead. That's why the necklace was also called the Menat."

Ginny peered in closer, her previous reserve dissipating the longer they talked. She turned her head this way and that, trying to make out from the little she knew what the hieroglyphs on the necklace's golden plate meant. She knew Bill could read them in a heartbeat. The Gringotts goblins were rather generous in lending their Curse Breakers with the learning tools to do their jobs well and so Bill had access to rare parchments and books on ancient Egyptian writings that simply could not be found elsewhere. Thus, Bill could read hieroglyphs that would simply stump the best Muggle Egyptian hieroglyph experts. Ginny could have easily Flooed her eldest brother and asked him to come over and take a look at the items but she was milking the opportunity to talk to Harry alone for all it was worth. She was not about to stop anytime soon.

Once again, Ginny realized just how near they stood to one another. She wanted to tuck her hair behind her ear but she was afraid her traitorous skin would reveal just how much Harry's nearness was affecting her.

"How do you know all about these?" Frank amazement was clearly etched on Harry's face.

"I've read of them." Ginny said, but when Harry continued looking at her questioningly, she elaborated: "When Bill learned that he was going to be assigned to Egypt by Gringotts, he prepared by reading up on everything he could get his hands on about the subject. Most nights I would sit on his lap while he read until I fell asleep. Sometimes, though, especially when a particular picture caught my attention, he would explain to me some of the things he'd read. That's how I became interested in Egyptology."

"Oh was that the time Ron mentioned that you often fell asleep on Bill's lap sucking your thumbs?" Harry's face was deadpan but Ginny could see his eyes crinkled in amusement.

Ginny bristled with indignity. It was so not true! For Harry's information, she had long stopped thumbsucking at the age of three and not at six when Bill began his Gringotts training. But, hey, she'd put up with anything just to prolong their conversation, at least until she was able to wangle a dinner date from him.

"Of course not, though I wouldn't mind reminding Ron as soon as I see him exactly where I learned the Bat-Bogey Hex from. It would be sooo nice to reintroduce my big-mouthed brother to my wand, don't you think?" said Ginny.

Harry laughed. Not smiled, but _laughed_ - openly, unreservedly, with his head thrown back.

Ginny stared at him open-mouthed. She did not remember the last time she saw him this light-hearted, this…happy? The few times she had seen him at the Burrow, he barely looked at her and often he would just stay in the sidelines and stare into the distance. Ginny would have loved to walk up to him during those times and ask him if he were alright, to offer him comfort in some way, but she couldn't very well leave whichever boyfriend she brought with her that time. Her brothers would surely pounce on the bloke. Then Harry would excuse himself and leave, as if he couldn't stand to stay very long. And now, here Harry was, laughing as if he hadn't a care in the world. Work must be really slow this week in the Auror department, she thought.

She turned her face back to the items, unable to bear much longer looking directly at Harry after so many years of stolen glances and watching him from a distance. Ginny pointed to the plate in the necklace, tracing a finger on the glyphs etched on the golden aegis. A sliver of her skin was touching Harry's skin and Ginny felt excitement course through her. "It's usually made of earthwork, not pure gold," she said, keeping her voice even, praying desperately that it would not betray the emotion that suddenly overtook her. "And the designs are so intricate; I've never seen one like it."

"Yes, it is quite exquisite. And there's nothing in the world quite like it... quite like you..." Harry's voice came so close to her ear,

sounding so tenderly soft and hoarsely low that Ginny felt her body slowly burn. And slowly, she turned her face up to him. His head was slightly bent down towards hers. She had never seen his eyes this close. It was more beautiful than she remembered, more beautiful in real life than just looking at them through enlarged pictures of him in newspapers and magazines. Besides, Harry never stayed long enough in those pictures, his photographic self was notorious for never staying put in his frame. And the longer she looked in his eyes, the more she felt like drowning...

And of anything in her life she had never been more certain of one thing: In every fiber of her being, to the very marrow of her soul, Ginny knew she loved him.

~o~

Harry couldn't believe his eyes: Ginny was coming through the kitchen doorway with a huge smile brightening her face. She seemed genuinely pleased to see him and he couldn't help but greet her with an answering smile of his own. And when she came up to him and kissed him on his cheek, Harry nearly lost it. He almost grabbed her, pulled her close, and snogged the living daylights out of her. But his sense of decorum prevailed and though he ached to brush her long hair back over her shoulder, he somehow managed to keep his hands to his sides.

He wasn't even planning to show the artifacts to anybody but when Ginny asked why he was there, Harry realized that he couldn't answer her back with a lie, not even an evasive response. He felt that he had been lying to her long enough, not letting her know how he felt about her. And so, he showed her the jewelry.

That Ginny knew what the artifacts were - and more - the moment she saw them was confirmation that he had made the right decision. He felt it was kismet - that they were meant to meet this time, that all the events in his life - even the sorrows - had been tending to this. There was nothing now that stood in the way of them being together, no one and nothing that existed that could possibly threaten her that Harry could not protect her from. He was not being arrogant, not at all. But if there was one thing Harry trusted in this whole universe, in this entire existence, it was love - love in all its glory, in all its power. Wasn't his own survival a proof of that? He loved Ginny, that fact was absolute, that love their own aegis. That for all his toils and troubles, his sufferings and self-sacrifice, that this, her, now, was his just and most deserved reward and Harry felt absolutely giddy with happiness.

Or anticipation. He still did not know if Ginny was still seeing anyone. Last he had heard, she was dating that toff Philip, whom the entire Weasley brothers referred to as 'Lemony Whatsit' or 'Lemony Gadget' behind his back. But if Ginny's behavior towards him was anything to go by, Harry could not help but hope - no, believe - that he finally had his chance with Ginny.

That's why when Ginny made an inadvertent remark and acted the way she did Harry's first time at the Burrow, Harry thought his face would break in two from smiling too much. Over the years Ginny had matured into such a confident and graceful woman that Harry, who missed nothing, couldn't help but be more attracted to her. He had watched her (albeit surreptitiously) held her own with aplomb before people who would have intimidated less self-assured individuals. He had avidly followed her career (erhm, her, to be exact), secretly reading all printed articles about her in newspapers and magazines, even though he knew that more than half of them were highly inaccurate and most probably made up. But still Harry was so starved of anything Ginny that he lapped up those articles anyway. Still, even from such articles, her true character shone through. How many times had he read, despite the unflattering and largely critical article that preceded it, the writer himself mentioning how gracious an interviewee Ginny had been? It was only her refusal to discuss her lovelife or comment on Ron's and Hermione's behavior or fiercely cut right from the start the reporters' attempts to fish for any information (or gossip) on Harry that turned the media off her.

Sometimes the articles would get so vicious that Harry had a tough time reading them through to the end. But Harry soon realized that in most of these articles, the reporter had said something critical, well, of him, and Ginny would immediately light into the said reporter, unleashing her bull-red temper on the hapless reporter, turning the interview sour. These instances of her goodwill often made Harry's day. Were it not for the fact that most of these articles would list off the strings of boyfriends Ginny had had, and suggesting that she was currently seeing this or that bloke, Harry would have long ago rushed to her doorstep and whisked her off away. That she should get flustered in front of him now had given Harry hope than anything possibly could. It was a wonder he hadn't already grabbed her and kissed her, although, to be fair, Ginny had a tendency to hex first whenever someone tried to sneak up on her.

It was really more because he didn't want to be looking at her back after watching her from afar for so long that he called her name and was promptly rewarded with the amusing sight of her attempting to appear nonchalant.

And when she started speaking about the jewelry again, he was once again reminded of Ron's comment about how Ginny never shut up normally. But Harry didn't mind. He felt he could stay and spend all day listening to Ginny speak. Whatever she wanted was alright with him. He nearly choked from laughing too when she threatened Ron. The innocent expression on her face contrasted so sharply with her threatening words that Harry couldn't help it and he laughed openly. Good thing he left out the part when Ron would do this impression of Ginny as a young girl with her front teeth missing, reciting whatever story Bill was telling her. He didn't think Ron would survive an encounter with Ginny if he did not.

She stood so close to him now that he could smell her hair and he breathed her scent in, committing it to memory. This had been the first time that he had been this close to her and when their skin touched, it electrified Harry right to his very soul. At once all his defenses, all his hesitation collapsed. He couldn't help himself reacting to her and finally lending voice to what he had only been thinking and feeling for the past several years. Ginny was exquisite, and for him, there was no one quite like her in all the world.

She turned her face to look up at him. He had never seen her eyes this close: so warm, so bright with life. She was lovely, the most exquisite thing he had ever seen. And he loved her. In every fiber of his being, to the very marrow of his soul, Harry knew he loved her.

For a long time he stared at her chocolate brown eyes. The warmest brown eyes that he had ever seen, her warm soul reflected in them. There would be time for words, he felt. But now, Harry's body demanded to be united, body and soul, with this woman he had been loving for so long. Lost in a haze of love and attraction, he felt his body thrumming with need that it had never known before. He'd been with women before, driven to them by the extreme loneliness and longing to what hitherto had only been a dream, but he had never felt such need. Harry felt his body trembling, the electricity in the air so charged it was palpable. He was drowning in a turbulent sea of need so powerful it seemed to wash over his body. He raked her face hungrily now, her white, translucent skin flushed, glowing, her lips red and slightly swollen...

Harry took a staggered step back, his eyes widening with shock. The realization, the feeling of betrayal hit him like a mailed fist. Ginny looked uncertainly at him but before she could say anything, he mumbled "I'm sorry, but I have to leave. Sorry for taking your time." then abruptly turned around and hurriedly left through the backdoor. He didn't want to hear her voice, didn't want her to speak his name. And he certainly didn't want her to see upon his face that his heart was breaking.

He cursed the long walk he had to take to reach the Apparation point of the Burrow. He could have Disapparated, of course, even from within the walls of the house, but to do so would violate the wards and the alarms would sound off alerting everyone from the Ministry to the rest of the family, the sound would even blare loud enough to alert even the Muggles in the area.

But when he reached the edge of the Burrow's ward, Harry realized that he could not Apparate. Not just yet. His entire body was wracked with minute waves of tremor that he was sure to splinch himself if he tried to Disapparate now.

Not wanting to be seen from anywhere inside the Burrow, he walked steadily ahead until he reached the turn in the road leading towards the center of the village. There he leaned a hand against a tree, bracing for support, and tried to catch his breathing even though he had not walked that fast.

A few months after he joined the Ministry, he was waiting for the lifts when a witch who was working at the Auror Department walked by and greeted him. She had lost a child during the war and so Harry felt a certain sympathy towards her. But for some unfathomable reason to Harry at that time, he blurted out how the witch looked beautiful that morning. From the corner of his eye, he saw other Ministry employees standing nearby staring dumbfounded at him. Harry, deeply embarrassed, quickly entered the just opened lift. Now nobody who had proper eyesight could ever call the said witch good-looking by any stretch of the imagination or whatever it was that could be stretched enough to justify Harry's comment, but there, Harry had said it and since then the woman never stopped using the garish maroon lipstick she had been wearing that day. The same thing happened half a year later, when Hermione had permanently moved in at Grimmauld. One day, his two friends came down to the kitchen for breakfast, Harry was once again struck at how beautiful Hermione, whose hair was still rumpled from sleep, appeared that day.

And he told her so. The words were out before Harry realized what he was saying. They both reddened, of course, at Harry's uncharacteristic comment though they both knew that Harry meant nothing by it. Ron merely raised an eyebrow at Harry. It was only much, much later when Harry had more experience in the world and when he had read (out of boredom) the many Muggle novels Hermione left lying around the house that Harry realized why he said those words. How many times had he seen the same look on Hermione's face since then so that Harry had made it a habit not to look at her anymore whenever she came down to breakfast? Exercise didn't do it, no matter how others might think or believe. There was just something different about the appearance of a woman recently loved, something unmistakable about the luminous afterglow of sex.

How had he not noticed it, the first time she walked into the kitchen? He knew why. He was so happy at seeing her, at having finally this chance to talk to her alone, that finally he could tell her exactly how he felt about her, that he could not see beyond the veil of his own glee. Not that he ever lacked courage before, no. It was just he was so used to keeping his feelings for Ginny hidden, keeping it to himself, that he felt it only right that Ginny should know of it firsthand before anyone else did.

And now to be confronted so brutally with the evidence of the extent of Ginny's relations with another man rocked Harry right to the core. The thought of her doing it with someone else - gloried in it, by the look of it, he thought bitterly - came more than a shock to him, it felt too much like a betrayal.

What did you expect, Potter? A harsh voice reverberated in his head. You yourself have been with other women before. How could you expect her to remain inexperienced? Aren't you being a hypocrite? No, it was not the fact that she had sex with some bloke but that he knew Ginny was not the type to sleep around unless she really cared deeply about the bloke. It must have been serious for their relationship to have gone so far, at least on her part. And it was that, the thought that Ginny had found happiness, found love with another man that was breaking his heart.

But even if it were the sex that was bugging him, Harry didn't care. Love was a mighty jealous, unreasonable creature that recognized no fairness, nor deservedness, only what it wanted. He realized he still had this illusion of Ginny as the young girl he saw his first day at Platform Nine and Three Quarters, the young girl who could barely speak to him his first time at the Burrow. He was hoping that underneath the grown woman that Ginny now was, was the same young girl who somehow still harbored feelings for him. He was holding on to a dream that no longer existed.

He now realized that that girl who loved him when he was younger was long gone. She no longer existed. She had been replaced by a completely different, independent, free young woman who no longer cared for him as much as she used to, had obviously moved on, never to be his again. He guessed he was spoiled by the love that he knew existed between his parents, Sirius' brotherly love for his Dad, Dumbledore's for him, Tonks' for Remus, even Snape's unrequited love - unrewarded til his dying day - for his mum. Was it so wrong of him, then, to believe that love, if it were ever true, was abiding?

And now Harry was lost, had completely lost his bearings. He was like a drowning man with no rudder to hold on to. How could he believe in something that did not last? In something so fleeting? In something that was never his in the first place? In this life or the next, Ginny would never be his.

The dry ground on his feet soon became speckled with small dark brown spots. He looked up and soft raindrops patted his cheeks. Storm clouds had formed directly above him and Harry realized his magic was spiking. Should he have a major blow-out, Ginny would surely feel it from the house and Unspeakables at the Ministry would pick up the disturbance and come investigating. Harry did not want anyone to come find him here. He straightened up, pulling his hand away from the tree he was leaning a hand against. It came away with granules from the tree's crumbling bark stuck in his palm and he brushed the dirt off his pants.

Although the Burrow could not be seen from where he was standing, his head involuntarily made a turn back towards the house, but he wrenched it back. He had to get out of there. He had to leave, as far away as he could go as possible.

His head bowed, shoulders humped, his thick, black unruly hair being whipped by the wind generated by his own errant magic, he concentrated upon his destination. He knew exactly where to go.

Harry Apparated at a small park in Islington, completely ignoring the three wands trained directly at him the moment he appeared. He knew three Aurors were posted 247 in the nearest Apparation point to Kingsley Shacklebolt's residence. Few people knew of its whereabouts and fewer still could just walk up to the door and knock in without undergoing through numerous security clearance weeks in advance. Normally, if someone had suddenly Apparated in the park, the interloper would find himself suddenly blasted to the ground without so much as a heads-up. But recognizing the wizard who had just arrived, and remembering the previous day's events, the Aurors allowed the security lapse. They, of all people, should know how an impossible feat it was to take a body part of Harry Potter to make Polyjuice Potion. Thus Harry continued unaccosted through the pass-through gate to Richmond Avenue and after taking only a few more steps, turned right into Richmond Crescent where the Minister of Magic lived.

A renovated one-storey motor garage, in the modern language of architecture Kingsley's contemporary house looked different enough from its Victorian neighbors to indicate the special nature of the structure.

Except for the port window set into the door of the house and a small rectangular window facing the street, the house was completely closed to the outside world. Even the bedrooms set in the basement floor had no open windows except for a folding glass wall that opened into an atrium into which sunlight flooded from an electrical sliding glass roof. But this Muggle face of the house served merely as the reception area for Kingsley's home. Harry knocked and an Auror immediately opened the door. The port window was part of the house's surveillance system and the Auror manning it already knew of Harry's approach, the moment Harry Apparated in the park in fact. The Auror mumbled a word of greeting which, contrary to his nature, Harry did not acknowledge. But the other Auror did not mind. He was one of the Aurors who participated in the previous day's operations and he assumed that the darkened aspect of Harry's face was on account of having lost a man in the service, something that had not happened ever since Harry joined the Auror service.

There were two closets immediately to the right as one entered the house, the first one nearest the door doubled as the Auror guard station apart from its innocuous function. To the left was a small powder room. Harry entered it, turned on the light, and using magic, lifted the cover of the toilet seat. Above the wall against which the flush toilet was set was a lighting sconce in the form of two martini glasses slightly tilted towards each other. Harry then climbed into the toilet bowl much as he and Ron had done that time they sneaked into the Ministry to steal back the locket Horcrux from Umbridge, and again using wandless magic, filled the right martini glass with water, its electric light continuing to glow steadily. The glass started to right itself up slowly as the water began to top off the glass and suddenly Harry was descending down a short tube out into an alcove set in the foyer of the hidden residence. The look and feel of this house was similar to its Muggle counterpart above, after all, the entire structure was designed by the same Muggle-born architect whom Kingsley had met and befriended in his stint as security aide of the Muggle Prime Minister.

Amelia, Kingsley's secretary and partner (a fact known only to a few), immediately greeted Harry and conducted him into Kingsley's study without even asking why Harry was there. Despite his mood, Harry couldn't help but give her a small smile. Amelia was one of the gentlest, kindest witches Harry knew and although she was very efficient in her job as the Minister's secretary, she, however, wouldn't last in a duel. That was why Kingsley kept her close.

The moment Harry entered Kingsley's study, the elder man knew something had happened. Neither one of them said anything in greeting, they had become too close a friend to waste time away with pleasantries. Harry headed directly towards the visitor's chair and sat in front of Kingsley's desk. Kingsley leaned back on his chair, waiting for Harry to speak. But Harry took his time gathering his emotions, his head bowed, his elbows planted on his knees - he did not even look up at Kingsley.

"I have to leave," Harry said at length, his voice sounding hoarse even to his own ears. Harry need not elaborate. Whatever reason Harry had for

leaving the country, Kingsley was sure it wasn't something trivial. Neither did he try to persuade Harry from changing his mind. Although wizarding Britain would never forgive him for letting Harry leave, Kingsley believed in Harry so much that his trust in the younger man was implicit.

There was a long interminable silence in which Kingsley continued to wait for Harry to speak. But when Harry did not, Kingsley filled in the void.

"When?"

"As soon as possible...Today." Harry looked up, his gaze steady although whatever the cause of his distress, the storm was clearly visible upon his handsome face. Kingsley realized that it had nothing to do with what had happened at St. Kilda the day before. After the meeting with Harold's widow, Kingsley witnessed from the observation room back at the Ministry the interrogation of the suspects that soon followed. Harry then was in his usual top form, displaying an enormous amount of self-possession.

"I only came here to get the lists of the formal requests made at the caucus last Friday, those relating to me. And the previous ones made, if you have them."

"Where will you go?"

"Greece. But after that, I'm not sure. I'll have to see the list first, deal with those I think I might be able to help with."

"You found a way to get rid of the Teumessian fox then?" Kingsley said, impressed despite the circumstances.

"Yes," Harry merely replied. "Also, I have several requests to make as well. I promised Howard's widow access to a Pensieve when she's ready to view Howard's last memories. Will you follow through on that promise?"

"It will be done," Kingsley replied, the Auror in him speaking. "In fact, the formal recommendations for the St. George's Cross* to be awarded to Howard and Will have already been included in the report."

Harry nodded his approval. "I also promised Damien Rosier that I would make sure his parents are taken care of. You can take the funds necessary to provide for their needs from my own personal funds at Gringotts. I'll send them an authorization letter as soon as possible."

"There's no need for that, Harry. I'll use my own discretionary fund. And as elderly citizens, they are entitled to benefits from the Ministry."

Harry nodded again. "Also, I am formally recommending a certain Mrs. Morag Macsween in Gleann Mòr for the High Auror's Award, or even a Good Citizen Award,

whichever you think is best. The details are in the report. And there is also this." Harry once again extracted the jewelry from his mokeskin. "I'm not sure yet what exactly they do. Perhaps you can commission Bill Weasley to work with the Unspeakables to find out about them."

"Harry we can't have that lying around. Last night, while you were still interrogating the suspects, the goblins sent feelers asking about them. I don't know how word got around to them but the goblins now know that Egyptian artifacts they know nothing about exist. They are quite interested in them and might be planning, even as we speak, to demand we turn over the artifacts to them. And based on the report yesterday, I don't think that there's really any place left in the world that would be safe for them to be. There is no one really I could trust with the jewelry than you."

Harry did not bother to deny his agreement, especially since they really knew next to nothing what these artifacts could do. Without a word, he duplicated the headdress and the necklace, trying not to think that the last time he held them, he was with Ginny. Then using both of his wands, he then placed numerous spells on the artifacts, not taking any pains to hide his magical skill, making it appear that the artifacts were magical. Then he stood up and looked about the room, considering where best to hide the copies. Nowhere too obvious, otherwise it would defeat the purpose of fooling whoever or whatever it was who would try to steal the items. He looked up and saw the flushmounted ceiling light, powered by magic, of course. He turned to Kingsley, seemingly asking the elder Auror for permission. Kingsley, who also had stood up and walked around his desk watching Harry work, nodded. Harry then conjured a black banded metal box and placed the artifacts in it, then closed the lid and lifted himself up til his head almost touched the ceiling. With his wand, he removed the lighting fixture, letting it float towards his left side, its light at once extinguishing the moment Harry removed it from the ceiling, plunging the room into darkness. But Harry waved a hand and the fixture immediately glowed back. Then Harry floated the box into the hole he made in the ceiling and with a flick of his wand, the box disappeared. Then Harry replaced the light fixture casting numerous spells upon it as he did so. The magic Harry placed in it was so strong that the hair on Kingsley's arms stood up, the books tightly packed in the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf quivering. Then Harry slowly drifted back towards the floor.

Kingsley could not help but be amazed. After all these years, after seeing Harry do fantastic feats of magic, Kingsley was still blown over by Harry's magical skill and power. The only thing Kingsley himself had learned was how to master his own awed reaction to it, the few times Harry allowed anyone to see him at work.

A long interminable silence soon followed. Harry's reasons for the visit were finally exhausted and parting was imminent. Harry turned back to Kingsley who, unable to help himself, asked the question he promised himself he wouldn't ask:

"What happened, Harry?"

But he should have known better, for Harry merely looked at him.

"I have to go," Harry finally said, his tone emotionless.

"When can we expect you back?" Kingsley couldn't help the note of sadness from creeping into his voice. He didn't realize the extent to which he had come to rely upon this young man until now. But more than that, there was no one he trusted in the Ministry more than Harry.

"I'm not sure if I'll be," Harry quietly said. Harry then straightened up, facing Kingsley fully, the closest thing to a wizard's equivalent to a Muggle salute. "Thank you, Minister. For everything," Harry said formally. Kingsley offered his right hand, and he and Harry shook hands. They looked at each other for a long time. But there were no more words to be said. With a final nod of his head, Harry turned around and left.

Harry immediately Apparated back to Grimmauld place. After retrieving the bow and arrows (which he had kept hidden inside a walk-in security vault behind a mirror walk-in in the master's room walk-in closet and his own magical camping tent he bought after the war. He then went down to the kitchen and called Kreacher. He told the house-elf of his plans to leave the country though they both knew that, in their case, master and willing slave, it was not really goodbye. From anywhere in the world, Harry could easily call Kreacher to his side. Still the house-elf was not entirely happy with Harry's decision; nevertheless, he acquiesced to Harry's wishes. Harry gave the house-elf the option where he would like to stay - with Ron and Hermione or at the Tonks's home.

Kreacher promised to look after both households. It was a good thing the house-elf had been completely taken with Teddy, after all, Andromeda was from the House of Black. Kreacher then left to inform Andromeda of Harry's decision; he would stay there at least until Ron and Hermione's return.

Harry then thought of leaving a letter to his two best friends but found he could not. In the end he settled for a short note that said:

_ Dear Ron and Hermione,_

_ Sorry I had to leave unexpectedly. Don't know when I'll be back. I love you both._

_ Harry_

He left the note along with his father's Invisibility Cloak on the kitchen table. Harry did not want to leave Ron without its protection during Auror missions. He knew his friends would take good care of it while he was away. He then stepped out of Grimmauld Place, carefully locking the door behind him. He stood there at the top step of the property, wondering whether he was making the right decision. But he just couldn't see himself staying. He couldn't bear to see Ginny again, not by chance, not so soon. He took a deep breath, preparing to Apparate to Cap Gris Nez, the closest point of France to England. As to what awaited him now, Harry would have to just suck it and see.

All throughout the country witches and wizards were preparing lunch, doing everyday things, going about their daily lives, not knowing their hero – the one who was mainly responsible for the peace and sense of security they were currently enjoying - had left them, left them for who knew how long.

~o~

What happened? Not for the first time that day Ginny was completely thrown for a loop. One minute she and Harry were talking, and, it seemed to her, drowning in each other's eyes in a haze of intense mutual attraction, the next Harry was beating a hasty retreat. She did not understand. She had danced around with enough men to know exactly when a man was attracted to her, if only physically. And she knew Harry was plenty attracted to her just a minute ago. What then?

She could not account for his actions. Had something happened? Had there been a danger? She knew that sometimes Harry could sense some danger coming. Was that it? She just did not understand. Did she say something that offended Harry? Or reminded him of an unpleasant event? Did she smell? She lifted a part of her dressing gown and took a whiff. No, she still smelled the way she did last night.

Ginny walked unsteadily from the room and climbed back upstairs, tracing the steps by rote, for her eyes had started to cloud… with tears, she realized.

When the initial shock of surprise had finally dissipated, came the full realization of Harry's utter rejection. And Ginny's heart broke like the thousand crystals of a chandelier crashing to the floor would break, an absolute shattering that Ginny didn't think she could ever recover from.

Her knees buckled; desperately she tried to hold on to the walls, to at least reach the sanctuary of her bedroom, but her body felt too heavy and she slid down to the floor instead. She sat there, staring unseeingly at the wooden planks on the opposite wall. She pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around them, gathering them as close to her body as she could so that her body could at least set down a physiological reason for the tightening in her chest.

She wished she had never woken up this morning, never gone down to see him – even to have died - then she wouldn't have this memory of his rejection of her, a rejection so absolute, so complete that she knew there was no coming back from it. Why couldn't he love her? Why? Ginny wailed silently. What do other women have that she didn't have? She knew Harry had gone out on dates with other women, Hermione told her so. Was that it? Them being alone and Ginny only half-dressed, Harry's hormones had kicked in but when he realized who she was and where they were, turned tail. He was probably unwilling to risk losing his friendship with Ron over her, afraid to offend her mum. But Ginny didn't care. She was willing to do anything, settle for anything, just to be with him.

Maybe if he really knew her, if she could only make him see how she felt about him then maybe he could return a portion of her love. And that would be more than enough for her.

He was the one hope of her life, her one abiding love. She had been loving Harry for so long, waiting for him all these years, never did give up on him, that she did not know how to dream otherwise. And now she knew for certain that he never wanted her. He would never want her or need her as much as she did. Riddle was right, after all, that day he brought her down to the Chamber of Secrets, the day Harry rescued her. It was the one thing he said that finally sapped her of the energy to fight him: Harry would never love her back.

Ginny did not know for how long she sat there on the floor but she knew she could not stay. Soon, her parents would be returning from the wedding up north, her brothers with their family would be arriving one by one. She didn't want to be seen in such a state nor was she fit to see any of them.

She stood shakily up on her feet and went to the loo. Slowly she started to undress. As she removed her knickers, she saw something that stopped

her in her tracks. There was blood on it. At first she did not understand. She just had her period two weeks ago and her periods were as regular as the lunar tide. She stared at the stain for a long time, uncomprehending. Then cold, black dread began to grip her heart. Her mind could not conceive of it, could not accept the possibility, could not absorb anything more after the pain of Harry's rejection. And though she felt her body weep anew with the fresh, devastating onslaught, tears now refused to come to her eyes. How much more could her heart break?

She thought of her parents and what it would do to them should she completely lose control of herself and that kept the darkness from completely enveloping Ginny's mind.

What happened last night? Once again she tried to recall the events of the previous night but simply could not remember much of anything. She hurriedly showered and dressed and took the Floo to the Harpies players dormitories in Wales. Sylvie would know.

~o~

*British Wizarding government's equivalent of the Victorian Cross


	6. Chapter 6

Harry Potter and the Necklace of Menat

CHAPTER 06

The moment Ginny appeared at the lobby of the Holyhead Harpies Players Dormitory, she knew something was wrong. The porter who was supposed to be manning the public entrance to the condominium (the Floo places were only for the exclusive use of team officials and players) at all times of the week was missing. So, too, was the receptionist at the concierge desk.

Ginny half-ran, half-walked towards the lifts, remembering all too well what she felt when she woke up that morning. Thankfully, the lifts were empty and soon she was opening the door to the unit she shared with Sylvie and another Chaser.

Ginny almost sobbed with relief when she saw Sylvie who was in the kitchen drinking a glass of water. Sylvie turned her head towards the door when she felt someone entering the open-designed condo. However, the look she gave Ginny was anything but welcome, which surprised Ginny. She and her roommates were quite close. Then the door to Sylvie's bedroom opened and two men emerged from inside, one of whom Ginny recognized as the assistant coach of the Falmouth Falcons, a man she knew to be married. Ginny kept her eyes downcast, as did the men, as they filed past her and left the unit without a word. She then raised puzzled eyes back to Sylvie, whose feminist ideals she knew bordered on the militant. Didn't Sylvie always say that she would never allow herself to be some man's spare meat and was rather scathing of women she judged to have no morals to allow themselves to be one? Sylvie was the only woman Ginny knew who regarded it a cause of resentment rather than as an affirmation of her femininity a man expressing any interest in her. "Whatever gave him the idea that I would ever be interested in _him_?" she would always say every time a man did so. Their teammates rather thought that Sylvie's extremist ideals were brought on by the arrogance of wealth, intelligence and beauty - for just as Sirius had been superciliously handsome, so was Sylvie. Though Ginny rather suspected it was more because of Sylvie's absentee father, who had been a famous Quidditch player in his day and of whom Ginny had never heard Sylvie speak.

"Sylvie?" Ginny felt compelled to call her friend's attention when Sylvie refused to look back at her. Ginny also noticed for the first time that Sylvie was trembling as she continued to gulp down glasses of water. Then Sylvie slowly put down the glass she was drinking from on the kitchen table and walked back towards the main living area.

"Don't you fucking judge me, Ginny!" she spat as she drew close.

Ginny was taken aback by the viciousness of her friend's anger. Sylvie was never even curt with her.

"You're such a goody, goody two shoes, Weasley, you make me puke!" Sylvie added.

"Sylvie! Why are you biting my head off? I haven't done anything to you!"

Sylvie must have realized that she was taking out her anger on her friend, and though she did not apologize, she visibly calmed down.

"I'm not judging you. I just wanted to know what happened – to us." Ginny's voice sounded as unsure as she felt.

"What do you mean?"

Ginny couldn't answer. She bent her head down. Sylvie walked right in front of Ginny and tried to lift Ginny's chin up.

"Ginny?"

But Ginny pulled her face away from Sylvie, ashamed of the tears in her eyes, to look so vulnerable.

"Ginny, what happened?" Sylvie insisted.

Ginny wrapped her arms around herself and looked down. "Do you remember what happened last night?" she asked after a time.

"I remember you arguing with Philip, and then nothing after that."

"I argued with Philip?" Ginny said, looking up in surprise.

"You don't remember?"

"No. But I know that Philip was not supposed to be at the party. Remember, I asked that he be stricken off the invited guests list?"

"But he was there! You were arguing! How could you not remember?"

Ginny hugged herself even tighter. "I really don't remember anything except arriving at the party itself."

"But the Aurors! They would have prevented Philip from crashing the party."

Ginny and Sylvie looked at each other and the two women realized that they had not seen any Aurors at the entrance gate of the manor where the victory party was held. However they thought nothing of it, assuming that the Aurors were checking the food and drinks inside.

"You don't remember seeing any Aurors last night, do you?"

Ginny shook her head no. "But I know it was supposed to be that blond guy Donaghy and his partner. I heard my brother Ron telling my mum so when he Flooed yesterday morning to tell my mum he and Hermione wouldn't be able to make it to the game."

"I never saw any Aurors last night."

"Sylvie, there's no guard downstairs. And the reception area is empty, too." Ginny turned her head to the room of their other flatmate, but as if reading her thoughts, Sylvie said:

"Leslie's not here. I already checked. Her bed hasn't been slept in."

Just then the fireplace in the room that was only used for communications but not for travel flared into life. They heard the crackle of the disembodied voice first before they saw the face.

"Weasley? Armstrong?" Ginny immediately recognized the voice of their team handler. They both hurried to crouch down in front of the fireplace.

"Thank Merlin you're there! Are you two okay?"

"Yes. But we're missing Leslie," Sylvie said.

"It's okay. She's already here."

"Weasley! Armstrong! Get your butts here, quick as you can!" Gwenog Jones's voice bellowed over the handler's head.

Ginny and Sylvie looked at the team handler.

"We're in a private room in St. Mungo's - "

"And don't take any potion! Not for headache! Nothing! Not even if you're bleeding to death!" Gwenog Jones continued to blare over the team handler's head.

But Ginny waited until Sylvie got dressed before they Flooed directly to the room in St. Mungo's their team handler told them to go to. When they got there they found the rest of the team already waiting for them.

The moment Ginny entered the room, however, she stopped short so suddenly that Sylvie collided painfully into her back. Their captain Gwenog Jones was wearing an orange sleeveless blouse — her large muscular arms in full display — slim fitting leopard-print trousers, and cat's eye glasses. Her black hair was done in a tall beehive. She also shoehorned her feet into flat shoes a size too small so that her toes bulged. A whimper almost escaped Ginny's lips. Ginny looked uncertainly towards her teammates who all turned their faces away trying to hide their laughter. There was also a massive, ugly bruise that covered the entire left side of their captain's face but, otherwise, she looked fine.

Sylvie, however, completely ignored Jones and marched ahead right to the other side of the room where a management staff stood, no doubt finding a new target upon whom to vent her ire.

Feeling suddenly marooned, Ginny edged across the room to sit beside her other flat mate, Leslie, whom the Muggle-borns had dubbed as 'the powdery Snow White, with morals just as loose'.

"What happened to her?" she mumbled to Leslie at the side of her mouth as she sat down.

"She's been taking your brother's Wonder Witch Beautifying Cream. Apparently, it doesn't go well with the date rape potion they found in the drinks last night at the party."

Another player nearby who had heard the exchange between Ginny and Leslie ducked her head down and snickered. Jones noticed of course and barked at them:

"Go ahead and laugh, you're off the team!"

But the players were so used to Jones that they ignored the remark though Leslie bent her head down and pretended to wipe dirt off her shoe while she continued to mumble.

"Saved her life though. The bruises appeared first. She didn't have to wait 'til morning for the dehydration to kick in."

"So, it's true then? The drinks were spiked?"

"Yeah. Why?" said Leslie, looking at Ginny. "Did you not feel anything when you woke up this morning? Because I heard even the butterbeers were Mickey Finned."

Ginny did not answer. Besides, she had never heard of a mickey fin potion.

"I myself woke up in a bathroom at the manor," Leslie said with a nonchalant shrug. "Of course, I don't remember anything of what happened last night. And so, me and the bloke I woke up with this morning agreed to meet with each other later tonight."

"At least you woke up with a man. Maureen here woke up with two women." A blond player spoke up, gesturing with her thumb to the reserve player seated beside her who smiled sheepishly at them as a round of laughter broke out among her teammates. Ginny kept silent. Of course, to some of her teammates, waking up to find out you had sex and didn't remember a thing about it was not the tragedy that it was to her.

"But what a waste! I mean, the potion was supposed to make you as horny as a caveman about to hunt his first woolly mammoth and enhance your physical experiences - " Leslie began again.

"- sexual -" the same player who butted in before spoke anew.

" - well, yes, sexual experiences - but you can't remember anything after? How effing stupid is that?"

"You can remember, too, but only if you take the minimum amount. Problem is, when you add a little more, 'coz it only takes a little for the little to become too much," the blond player spoke up again.

"Why do you know so much about it?" another player flared up, suddenly angry.

"Because it has already happened before, stupid. Remember the Wigtown Wanderers' 'harvest' party last hols?"

"Don't tell me you attended that party?"

"Why not? It _is_ a party. Free booze all night. And the Wanderers are quite a dishy lot."

The angry player was about to make a retort but Leslie spoke again.

"Guess, we're luckier though. We players have been trained to watch out for dehydration. If you're thirsty, you drink. Saved our lives."

"Yeah. None of the three patients who died were athletes, including the receptionist downstairs," said the blond player.

"She's dead? But she's only nineteen!" Ginny felt a bit guilty. Like most women, at first the younger woman's beauty alerted Ginny's territorial radar: was she Harry's type? But she eventually became friends with the bubbly teen who wanted nothing more than to launch her own line of beauty products and to meet Neville, of all people.

"And Corinne's boyfriend's in a coma."

"But why? What happened?" the realization that she had had a narrow escape finally dawning on Ginny.

"Her boyfriend only took a headache potion and then collapsed. The Porter from the condo helped Corinne bring him here."

"But they're already talking about getting married!"

"Poor Corinne," Maureen said, the others echoing the sentiment.

"Really hate to be her right now," Leslie added.

"Yeah, it does suck to be her," the blond player added.

Then the door opened and all their eyes turned towards it as two men entered the room, a Magical Law Enforcement Officer judging from his robes and a St. Mungo's Healer whom Ginny recognized from her mum's volunteer work at the hospital. The Healer looked around the room, but upon seeing Ginny, stopped suddenly, anxiety marring his face.

"Well?" Jones barked at the men impatiently.

"Miss Barnes' fiancée is still in a coma. We're not sure when he'll wake up," the Healer said, adding quietly, "If."

"But what happened?"

"We've found Potion X in all the drinks from last night, including the butterbeers," Ginny could almost hear the clicks in her teammates' necks as they turned their faces towards her but she kept her own face locked on the man who spoke. "You do know what it does, don't you?"

"Potion X?" the team handler said.

"It was supposed to be a mixture of a Muggle date rape potion and wizarding potions," the Healer said.

"GHB," the MLE officer said.

Jones only looked at the MLE Officer with a gormless expression on her face.

"The Muggle date rape potion?" the MLE officer added, tilting his head a tiny bit as if coaxing comprehension from Jones, who although her mother was Muggleborn, completely grew up in the Wizarding world and therefore did not have any idea what GHB meant.

"Unfortunately, the potion we found in the drinks last night, was a new designer drug. The GHB was combined with wizarding potions, causing a veritable toxic mix," the Healer said.

"But how could that have happened? There were supposed to be Aurors in the venue!" said Jones, coming back to life.

"You do know that Aurors are not really required by law to oversee the security in these events?" the MLE said, obviously miffed. "It was only a courtesy the Ministry extended to the Quidditch league. The security in these types of events is entirely the franchisers' responsibility. That means you."

"But where is Mr. Potter? Shouldn't he be here now to investigate what happened? Surely you realize that this is no longer a matter for the MLES but for the Aurors?" and Jones made to look behind the two men's backs as if she thought they were hiding Harry behind them.

The Ministry employee stiffened.

"We've been trying to contact Mr. Potter but we've been unable to raise him. They've lost a man in yesterday's operations - "

Ginny's ears pricked up. An Auror died yesterday? But Harry looked so happy.

" – The Auror, in fact, who volunteered to baby-sit your party last night. And I've heard that they would have lost another one if it were not for him. Mr. Potter saved many lives yesterday. Don't you think he deserves to have at least a day off? So please excuse us if Mr. Potter cannot attend to everyone's beck and call," the MLE officer said coldly.

Gwenog Jones had decency enough to look ashamed.

The MLE officer then turned to the Healer. "If you don't need anything more..."

"It's fine. Thank you very much for your assistance, Officer. We appreciate it," said the Healer.

The MLE officer nodded, then left the room, closing the door carefully behind him.

The Healer then turned to face Gwenog Jones.

"Look, you all know what the potion is used for," he said, addressing the room, his eyes lingering on Ginny a second longer. "We need to know who had been on contraceptive potion before the event and who were not."

"But that's a private matter! Not even management can take a look at those files if they do not have express permission from the players themselves," the team manager said.

"Sorry, but we have to make sure. In fact, all the people who attended last night's events have been advised to come in for follow up check-ups, particularly the women."

"But why?"

"Based on recent cases of such poisoning, we have learned that certain ingredients in the Potion have a long half life in the body, meaning," he added hurriedly as Jones made to interrupt him, "they stay in the body for quite a long time, like mercury. Also, the most pronounced side effect in the months following the initial poisoning is internal bleeding as the body strains to remove the foreign substances. Not only that, the potion itself has terrible drug interactions with other potions, which means we can't prescribe medications we would normally use for patients who do not have the potion in their system." He ran a hand through his hair. "Frankly speaking, it's the worst potion that has ever been invented. It's almost like the wizarding equivalent of the AIDS plague in its early years."

But Jones, whose forehead became more wrinkled and her lips pursed more tightly as the Healer spoke said,

"You better talk straight now. I just have about this much patience (and she gestured with her thumb and pointer finger just a half-inch apart) for you and your blathering. You really don't want to be clouted on the head, do you?"

At any other time, the mental image of Jones hitting someone on the head with those powerful muscles of hers would be very funny, and yet nobody was laughing at this point. All the players had heard the rumors. But usually they were from the other side of the pond or even as far away as Australia - so far away from them that they never thought it could happen here. Not in Harry Potter land. Who would be dumb enough?

"What I'm trying to say is none of your players is completely out of the woods, yet. Those who have been taking birth control potions before last night could expect nothing more than heavier menstrual bleeding, provided none of them conceive in the following months, of course. But those who will get pregnant as a result of this we will have to closely monitor. We cannot terminate the pregnancy, you see. The patient will surely bleed to death."

"So you're saying if someone's already on the potion…."

"- is relatively safe, unless they've always had bleeding problems."

Jones turned around to the players.

"I'm safe," Leslie said, an answer echoed all around them, except for Ginny and Sylvie.

"So, Weasley, Armstrong. I'm not sure about Corinne - "

"Miss Barnes? I've already checked. She was on the potion," said the Healer.

Jones took a deep breath, as if bracing for something unpleasant then began talking again. "So, that's three players down. Corinne would be in no emotional condition to play…." She looked at Maureen. "Yes. I think it's doable," she said, more to herself. "They're ready."

"Pardon me?" the Healer cut in, his forehead furrowed.

"Only three players who can't play in the playoffs," Jones said with an air of explaining something simple to a child. "The reserves will be able to take their places."

"I'm sorry, but I think you've missed a crucial point of what I have just said," the Healer said, his jaw angling.

But Jones merely looked back at the Healer as if she did not understand his words.

"The primary side effect of the date rape potion is bleeding? Meaning, none of your players can play the games. We cannot risk them getting injured because we would not be able to treat them."

"But that's impossible! What about the playoffs?" Jones said, raising her voice.

"What about your players' lives?"

"But we're already committed. Tickets have already been sold!" Jones now was looking at the Healer as if he were mad.

"Well, you can't play, not with these players anyway," said the Healer, gesturing towards Ginny and her teammates.

"Well, then, you're mad if you think we're going to forfeit the games!" Jones replied, looking as if she were sporting for a fight.

"Well, you have no choice, unless you're willing to risk the lives of your players? In which case, we shall be putting on record that St. Mungo's has advised you not to field your players for the games. But if the franchise pushes through with the plays, then we're washing our hands off of any responsibility for the lives of these players."

"But it just isn't possible..." Jones said faintly.

But the Healer had had enough. He cast Ginny another look then turned back to Jones.

"You do understand that one of your players is a Weasley? You must know that Mr. Potter is rather protective of that family. I've seen him around, helping Mrs. Molly Weasley with the patients from the last war. I don't think he will be very pleased should anything happen to any one of them, do you? Besides, you will be the one to explain to him why you are willing to put the life of one of them in danger."

"But I've already said that I'm benching Weasley..." Jones continued to feebly protest.

"Even so. You are still planning to put not just one, nor even a few, but _all_ of your players' lives in danger and St. Mungo's will not be a party to that. So, if you'll please excuse me..."

The Healer then turned his head towards Ginny, nodded his head in acknowledgment then left the room without another word.

Nobody spoke. Jones was still turning from one face to another, her mouth opening and closing like a gaping fish, as if trying to confirm that what had just happened was real.

But the rest of the team, after a moment's silence, seemed to make one great, big shrug and turned from her. Though it sucked for them not to be able to play in the games, there was always next year. Besides, they had already won the championship two years ago. It was not as if this was their first time proving their mettle in the Quidditch field. There was also the not so bitter matter that whether they played the games or not, they were going to be paid their full contract fee.

Then everyone's face turned towards Ginny. And she thought she knew why. She was a Weasley. What were the chances that she would not conceive? Slim to none. And though she did not make an issue of it, Ginny thought that her teammates suspected the truth that she was still a virgin. Well, at least until last night. For one thing, she had never had a guy at the flat who spent the night over. Plus, she more than gave herself away when, during one of their team's raunchier talks one night, a player made a joke about how this guy she knew only had one testicle. And Ginny asked how her teammate knew. All her teammates turned their faces towards her then, incredulous, as Ginny reddened. It was only later when she and Sylvie were alone that Ginny asked her about it and Sylvie explained. Well, how was she to know that one could easily _feel_ them? She'd never done it, not even when in the heat of a passionate moment a boyfriend had wanted her to. And it was not as if she went around cupping strange men's bollocks.

But now she could just hear the thoughts running through her teammates' heads. It sucks to be Corinne, but also sucks to be Ginny right now.

Ginny couldn't stand any longer the pitying looks her teammates were giving her. She asked to take leave and Flooed back home to the Burrow, Leslie giving her a tender kiss on the cheek as she made her leave.

It took Ginny several attempts though before she could get through to the network. It would seem the Floo on the Burrow's end was a bit congested. When she was finally able to get through the Floo into the Burrow's kitchen, she arrived upon a scene of total bedlam. She stood there unsteadily as various members of her family stood gaping at her, then -

"Ginny!"

"_Tante_ Ginny!"

Her mum was the first to reach her, though the others were not too far behind. Even little Victoire jostled with her elders to get ahold of her. Guess they must have already heard the news, Ginny thought tiredly.

"Ginny! What happened?"

"Where have you been?"

"We've been hearing rumors – "

"It's all over Diagon Alley – "

"We've been looking everywhere for you – "

"They said Harpies players have been found dead – "

Ginny began to feel claustrophobic. The reality of what had just happened came crushing to her fully. How could she tell her family what had happened to her? Would her mum understand? She did not know how or when to begin to tell them. She wanted to weep but the tears would not come.

"ENOUGH!" Over and above the cacophony of voices her dad's voice rang out. He must have noticed Ginny's growing anxiety. But Ginny felt too emotionally drained to even lift her face up and give her father a grateful look. She felt her legs weaken and she started to fall. But her mum still had a tight grip around her waist and Ginny felt herself being half-lifted, half-dragged to a nearby chair.

"Ginny, baby, what's wrong? What happened?" Her mum said as she peered anxiously into Ginny's face, seating herself down beside her daughter.

"Ginny, is it true? The rumors? The entire team was poisoned?" Percy.

Ginny could only nod her head weakly.

"But you're okay, aren't you? You never drink alcoholic beverages." George.

"Ginny?"

Ginny sensed her eldest brother Bill crouch down in front of her. She couldn't see him clearly. Her sight had started to become blurry.

Then she heard Fleur call curtly to her children. "_Les enfants, viens._" Her daughter had parked herself by Ginny's knees.

"But I want to be with _Tante_ Ginny!" Victoire petulantly said, the threat of a tantrum clear in her high-pitched voice.

"_Viens avec moi! Maintenant!_" Fleur snapped in a voice that brooked no argument. Recognizing the tone, Victoire reluctantly peeled herself off Ginny's side, patting her beloved Aunt on the thigh as she did so. Ginny couldn't help but give a weak smile at the innocent gesture of reassurance.

When all the children had been herded from the room, Bill once again turned to Ginny.

"Gin, what happened?"

Ginny did not answer for a long time. She looked at her brother's face. The scars made by Greyback had all but disappeared now. Sometime after the war, Harry had asked Bill if he wanted the scars to lessen a bit. Though Bill and Fleur both said they didn't mind either way, Mum, however, was all for it. It was simple enough - if you were Harry. Harry used the Sectumsempra spell to open anew the scar-wounds then healed them back. A few were completely healed, though some still remained but none looked as bad as they did before Harry healed them. Harry did a good job and Bill looked just as handsome as ever.

Soon the suspended silence that followed forced Ginny to finally speak. She began to haltingly narrate the events as she knew how they happened – from last night's party until the meeting at St. Mungo's. Thankfully, her family did not try to interrupt as she tried to tell them everything she could remember of the recent events - everything, that is, except for Harry's visit; somehow, she felt it was too private a matter to share even with her family. And she didn't think she could relive either Harry's rejection of her. As it was, she was barely able to keep herself together. Finally, she couldn't add anything more and she stopped speaking.

A ringing silence soon followed Ginny's speech. Her family was too stunned at the news Ginny had delivered. It was George who broke the silence first.

"Weren't there supposed to be Aurors last night?"

"Died. In an operation yesterday," Ginny said in barely a whisper.

"Ronald! Where is he?" Percy cried indignantly and there was no mistaking that he was about to lay blame on their absent brother.

"Ron didn't know. How could he? Nobody expected it would happen. But he made sure that there would be Aurors at the party last night. I heard him myself," Ginny said. There was just a hint of warning in her voice that they were not going to pin any blame on Ron.

"Ginny, you said the potion was used for – " Bill started.

"As a sex enhancement drug," George cut in as if he didn't even want Ginny to speak the word "sex".

"Ginny, where did you wake up this morning?" Bill continued.

"Here. In my room."

Bill seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. "Then, you're fine? Nothing happened to you?"

Ginny looked at Bill's face. Ginny knew what her eldest brother was really asking behind his questions. She shook her head. Bill audibly sucked in his breath.

"FUCK!" George ran out the door of the kitchen and banged the door close behind him. Although when Ginny looked up to watch George march out the door, she was surprised to find Angie standing among her family, tears in her eyes as well. Angie seldom left little Freddie alone as, like as not, he'd get into trouble.

"What? What is it?" The panic in their mum's voice was evident.

"But how?" Percy said.

"I don't know. I don't remember," Ginny felt like burying her head in her arms. "I have to come back in two weeks for a pregnancy check-up."

"Ginny! You're not saying – "

Bill once again interjected, trying to put in objectivity into the situation, preventing their mother into spiraling into a full panic mode. Ginny was thankful that Bill was there and he was the one asking all the questions. She needed her brother's cool and objectivity. And somehow she didn't feel like discussing the entire matter with her dad, who kept quietly by her mum's side, but looking quite shell-shocked. Ginny couldn't look directly anyone in the eye but she needed her family to know what had happened.

"Ginny, could you be - ? Are you – "

Ginny couldn't help it and burst into tears, burying her face in her hands. Her mum hugged her even tighter, trying to offer what little comfort she could.

"Do you know who the father might be Ginny?" Bill asked at length.

"I don't know. I don't remember anything."

Her mum tightened her grip on Ginny but Bill immediately noticed.

"Mum, you'll bruise her," Bill admonished then turned back to Ginny. "If you become pregnant, Ginny, would you like to keep the baby?"

"Do we have to talk about it now? Couldn't it wait?" Percy said.

"I don't want to drag this conversation into days or weeks even. Ginny has to get everything out of the way now. Otherwise, we'll only be making it harder for her," Bill calmly replied back, never taking his eyes off his sister.

Ginny kept quiet. She didn't think she had been given much choice in the matter. And she reminded them of the words of the St. Mungo's Healer. Just then George rampaged his way back into the room.

"Where's Harry? We need him. I've been trying to contact him since I heard the rumors in Diagon Alley but I couldn't reach him."

"He isn't hurt, is he?" her Mum cried.

"If Harry's been hurt in an operation yesterday then we would soon hear of it. No, I don't think Harry's hurt," Bill said.

"But if an Auror died, and Harry felt himself responsible…." Angie said. Having known Harry for a long time, she too had gotten a handle on how Harry operated.

There was a space of a few minutes when her family contemplated this matter. Ginny was grateful that, for a brief amount of time, the attention of her family was directed away from her - though every mention of Harry's name felt like a stab of ice in her chest.

Bill turned once again to his sister.

"Ginny, we need your memory of the night of the party. As much as you can remember." Bill said gently to her.

"Is it really necessary? Ginny can't perform magic on herself! It's too dangerous! She could hurt herself!" But there was something in the inflection in his mum's voice that caused Bill to briefly glance her way and noted - along with worry - the guilty expression on her face.

"I'll do it myself," said Bill. Memory extraction had been used extensively after the war on children who couldn't perform the magic as a means of gathering evidence, to spare the children the trauma of having to stand witness at the Death Eaters' trials. Bill turned his face back to his sister.

"What was the last thing you remember clearly?" Bill said to Ginny.

"The night before the party. Mum was baking." Then Ginny bent her head down. She just realized that it was the last time she felt happy. Hopeful. Safe. Bill seemed to sense what Ginny was feeling and gently combed her hair back over her shoulder.

"Ginny, I need you to concentrate fully on everything you can remember last night. We need to know. We need to find out if this thing has been deliberately done to you. In case we have to take steps."

The last sentence was quietly spoken but Ginny felt a sudden chill in the air, and she felt the undercurrent of anger in Bill's calm voice. She looked at her brother's face. There was a cold promise there the extent of which Ginny could only guess at. But there was also a reassurance, a commitment, and Ginny felt her heart lighten a bit at the knowledge that, despite having his own family to look after now, Bill was letting her know that she could still rely upon him.

"Perhaps, Ginny should try to remember only what happened at the party?"

Bill spared another sidelong glance at their mum who was now wringing her hands and he allowed himself a small smile. _Yep, guilty_. Bill thought he felt his father's eyes on him and doubtless his dad must have noticed his mum's reaction as well; however, the rest of the family, too concentrated on Ginny, did not.

Finally, Ginny gave a small nod and Bill raised his own wand.

"Don't worry," he murmured as he placed the tip of his wand to Ginny's temple, "you won't feel any pain."

And though Ginny spoke it so quietly as to be almost inaudible, Bill nevertheless heard Ginny's anguished reply: "But I already do."

~o~

Ginny was seated at the back seat of the Ford Anglia looking out the window. She could see nothing but Muggle vehicles and an endless wall of grass that hid the Wraysbury Reservoir from view from the M25 motorway on which they were travelling though from time to time flocks of sheep that kept the grassy embankment under control would peek into view. Outside the car, the bright sun was misleading as a stiff wind was blowing from the east, and she remembered the cold stepping into the car. Normally, she loved these drives with her parents, which happened very seldom as there had been no need to - until now. Lately though, they had gotten a lot more use from it in the past three months than the last four years since Harry brought it to the Burrow - ever since the Harpies victory party, in fact.

Molly Weasley turned from the passenger seat towards the back to her. "Are you feeling okay, dear? Do you want anything? Maybe we can stop over by a Muggle pub and have some lunch if you're feeling hungry."

"I'm fine, mum."

"Do you need some tissue? I have lots here. And your dad was kind enough to buy some more from a Muggle apothecary near the Healer's office."

"It's 'kay, mum. Really."

"Tell me if the nosebleeds start up again. Won't you, sweetheart?"

"Yes, mum."

Ginny then turned her head back again towards the outside. She knew that if her father wanted to, they could travel in an instant to Ottery St. Catchpole instead of taking the three hour drive from London. It was not because her dad wanted to enjoy the scenery nor was it for the pleasure of driving this car. And though her dad's hands were on the wheel and he kept a straight face ahead, Ginny knew the car was on automatic pilot, weaving through roads that have the least amount of Muggle traffic. And, as if the car knew what her father wanted or Ginny needed from it, the car was moving along at a steady pace, even sometimes taking the bridleway – unnoticed by Muggles, of course - with nary a whisper of movement that would jostle Ginny and cause her to suffer yet again from another wave of nausea.

Ginny leaned her head back further in the seat, letting her left hand run slowly along the smooth seat cover Harry had installed, luxuriating in the comfort the car offered. Under the removable seats it was all expensive leather, porous with air vents underneath. Thus, moisture was not a problem for this car, yet Harry still added this extra layer of cover to make the car as comfortable as possible – no back sweats ever in this car. And that was just fine by Ginny. She also knew that if she wanted to, she could easily lie down and the seat would automatically lengthen to accommodate her supine body.

She drew a deep calming breath. Harry. He was gone now and yet everywhere she turned it seemed there was always something to remind her of him, as if pieces of him were still left. Like this car, for example. Did her dad have any idea at all just how much this car really cost Harry? Sure, when Harry found the car on the _internets_, the shell was dirt cheap. But soon after the car was finished, Dad showed them all the finishes and gears Harry had had installed. George kept whistling and shaking his head then. His frequent forays into the Muggle world - even abroad - to look for Muggle items he could sell in his store made George a lot more knowledgeable about cars and other Muggle toys. In fact, he had a car of his own, a _Paganini_* Zonda he was hiding from Angie in Harry's rental townhome in Mayfair.

Ginny turned her head to look at her father's profile. Though her dad kept his face directed straight forward, she knew that he was not really looking at the road. She also noticed how he kept blinking his eyes and swallowing.

A few days ago, her mum had a bad scare when Ginny came down to breakfast sporting a spectacular black eye. Ginny had seen it, of course. But bruises had started to appear more often all over her body now. So why should it surprise her that one appear on her face? The nosebleeds came frequently too, even at night while she was sleeping. But it was not as if they had not been told that this would happen. Still, everyone around her had increasingly gotten more worried. Katie Bell, who had studied nursing and then went on to Healing school, made it a point to drop by the Burrow from St. Mungo's almost everyday just to check Ginny over, paying close attention to her stomach area. This, after a girl who also had attended the Harpies victory party and subsequently became pregnant had died in her sleep – while already confined at St. Mungo's. A blood clot from a ruptured artery behind her knee had lodged itself in her lungs. Even Luna, soon after receiving Ginny's letter, came home from Kazakhstan where she had been checking out reports of recent sightings of a graphorn (which the rest of the wizarding world knew as an Indrik beast) at the Valley of the Castles. Ginny didn't want Luna to hear news of her pregnancy from someone else. But Luna being Luna, she only said that the pregnant look was becoming of Ginny, were it not for all the bruises.

They had just been to see her Healer. Ginny knew she ought to worry about what the Healer had told them, but try as she might, it wasn't the Healer's words that kept reverberating in her mind like an endless Muggle carousel: "_nothing quite like it...quite like you.._."

What the hell did that mean? That...what? Ginny wanted nothing more than to just forget about Harry. _It's time to grow up Ginny. It's time to let go of your childish fantasies, _she kept telling herself. And yet, she could not help but puzzle over Harry's words. His actions were so different from the words he had uttered that thinking about it only served to frustrate her further. And further aggravation was the last thing she needed.

Still, she couldn't remember hearing Harry say those words to her without shivering. And like an endless carousel, Ginny's feelings about it would fluctuate between hope and despair: hope that Harry somewhat returned her feelings after all, despair that it seemed everything was moot and academic now. So what if he did care for her? He was gone, had left her when simply him being in the same country she was in brought her comfort. And what would he return back to, even if he did? It was too late now. Would he still want her? now that she was carrying another man's child? There was no reference for her at all against which to measure how Harry would react to the news of her pregnancy. She couldn't care less what the rest of the wizarding world should think of her now, but Harry?

Of course, she was not stupid. Ginny knew her parents were simply wracked with worry. She knew that. When it was confirmed that Sylvie had gotten pregnant, she went home to her people up north where they still practiced some of the old Druid and Völva magic from the days of the Viking occupation. As a way of keeping her alive, her people had placed Sylvie in magical stasis until her scheduled delivery. So far, it had helped stabilize Sylvie's condition. And now St. Mungo's was thinking of doing the same thing to all the pregnant patients from the Harpies party, including Ginny. They were given only a few days to decide on the matter. But even as the Healer made the proposal, he gave them no guarantees either. And Ginny knew that the idea was scaring her parents even more. And she guessed she should be, too. But she simply could not be arsed. For what could be done, really? If she died, she died. She was not so slow as to not recognize when Sod's Law was happening. And clearly, in her current situation, the law was very much in effect. Well then, so be it: Sod it, then. Sod it all to hell.

When they arrived at the Burrow, the entire family, except for Percy's and George's wives as well as all the Weasley grandchildren, was already waiting. Upon seeing Ron and Hermione though, Ginny made a face of annoyance. She walked straight to her other brothers and Fleur, kissing each one of them, then marched right up the stairs to her room, pointedly ignoring Ron and Hermione. She knew that the two thought she blamed them for what had happened to her. That if they hadn't run off that weekend, then Ron would have known that the Aurors who were supposed to be manning the party had been taken out of action and replacements could have been found. But it wasn't that at all.

A week after Harry had gone, Hermione looked as Ginny felt. But on the second weekend the two had disappeared on the family again, and when they both returned just in time for the family's Sunday dinner, Hermione had lost the miserable expression on her face and Ginny instantly knew that the two had been with Harry. Also, she had overheard Teddy at Shell Cottage soon after boasting to Victoire how he and Harry had gone surfing the previous weekend. And it infuriated Ginny even further.

She had already begun to think that the reason Harry left was because of Donaghy's death, that Harry must have thought that he would be putting her in danger if he started anything with her, the way Tom Riddle had used her as bait once. Even then Ginny had seethed. What a stupid man, she thought. Did he think that she couldn't take care of herself? She grew up with Fred and George! The twins, besotted as they were with their only and younger sister, used to take every opportunity as children to set her off like a firecracker just to see the effect. And she grew up learning not only how to fend off the twins' attacks, but also to give as good as she gets.

Then she got slapped in the face with the truth of Harry's continued relationship with his best friends and godson. And Ginny did not know what to think anymore. She just could not figure Harry out. Was he willing to risk Teddy but not her? What? Perhaps she was just that not important to him after all? That his attraction to her was only, literally, skin deep? As in, foreskin deep?

And seeing Ron and Hermione reminded Ginny of that. She boiled even further. She headed directly to her room, determined to work on the scrapbook of newspaper and magazine articles of the two she had been secretly compiling for years. Everyone was in on it: her sisters-in-law, Verity, her teammates, her Dad's secretary, the porter at the dormitory, even a few of Charlie's sundry girlfriends from as far away as Romania – all had given her clippings to be put in the scrapbook. At first the project was started only as a joke, a means for the family to pay back the two for all the shame they had put the family through. Although, why anyone who knew them before should be surprised at Ron's and Hermione's behavior was beyond Ginny. Not a few wondered whatever happened to the once prim and proper Hermione Granger. Well, hormones happened, that's what happened. And Ginny rather thought that Harry's best friends had always conducted their affair in public, or rather had always been rather public with their feelings for each other. Now that the two had become intimate, they were just hiking up the ante. Unfortunately for the – _lecherous, yes that's the word_, thought Ginny – couple, Ginny was not in a forgiving mood. Someday, those two were going to pay.

~o~

As soon as they heard the door to Ginny's room click close, everyone turned to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Ginny would only be given until the end of the family discussion and then someone would come upstairs to check on her.

When Mrs. Weasley had finished relaying to the family what had been discussed in the Healer's office, Bill noticed Ron and Hermione exchanging a rapid, silent communication. Then Hermione glanced at him. Bill said nothing but turned to his wife instead. "Fleur, we're leaving," he said abruptly. He picked up their cloaks from the back of a sofa, swung his over his shoulders and gave his wife's hers. They then walked over to Mrs Weasley, gave his mum each a buzz on the cheek, then he nodded goodbye to his father and the rest of the family and they Flooed to Percy's house where Audrey and Angie were keeping watch over all the Weasley grandchildren.

When Bill and Fleur had gone, Hermione turned to the family immediately.

"The Necklace of Menat, Harry has it," she said without preamble.

Percy's eyes widened. "So it's true then? I heard rumors."

"Yes."

"What's the Necklace of Menat?" George asked.

"It's an Egyptian artifact. A very powerful magical object. It's like Harry's Invisibility Cloak, but its magic is more," Hermione paused as she searched for the right word, " - proactive. It can help Ginny. Stabilize her magic."

"It will? She doesn't have to be placed in magical stasis?" Mrs. Weasley cried.

"Are you sure?" Mr. Weasley said, hope erasing the worry lines on his face.

"Yes. We've seen it."

"You know where Harry is," George said, hurt in his voice.

"No, George," said Hermione, turning at once to George with both her hands raised in supplication. " - we don't. We've only seen him twice. Harry would only send a Portkey to us. He would never tell us where we were or where he would be going next, only where he'd been. And not even to all the places he'd been to."

"So he could see you, but not us? Some friend he is," said George, unmollified.

"No, George. You don't understand," said Hermione pleadingly. "Something's wrong with Harry. I don't know what it is. He wouldn't say. He wouldn't discuss anything. Not even Kingsley knows what's bothering Harry. It had to be more than what happened to Donaghy. Please, you have to understand. This is Harry we're talking about. He was never one for sharing his feelings, not even me."

"George, it's Harry, man." Ron interjected, hoping that that was all the explanation that was needed. And George did understand, in some way. A few months after the war, he was attacked at Diagon Alley by members of a family of a Death Eater who died at Hogwarts. And even if Harry had subsequently arrested the suspects who were eventually sentenced to Azkaban, Harry stayed in his flat for months, sleeping in the only available place in his flat - the sofa, and he and Harry had become closer even with Ron there. Harry had kept quiet during the times talk would stray towards Fred. But George understood and took no offense.

An uncomfortable silence followed but Percy, sensing George's acquiescence, asked eagerly. "The other artifact too? Hathor's headdress? I heard it was also found along with the necklace - "

"It's no longer relevant to this discussion," Ron said coldly. The truth of the matter was, he and Hermione had already violated the Ministry's injunction against speaking about the powerful artifacts outside of relevant personnel. That was why Bill had to leave. The Gringotts Goblins had enacted earlier a similar policy: that all Gringotts employees must report at once all knowledge of the existence and whereabouts of Egyptian artifacts. And even try and confiscate them, in the name of Gringotts Bank's long-standing agreement with the Egyptian authorities that they, and they alone, had exclusive exploratory rights to treasures found in Egypt and therefore had first rights on any Egyptian artifacts. Bill had already been called in and interrogated about the artifacts but of course Harry had already left the country by then and Bill could honestly deny knowledge of the jewelry except from what he'd heard from the gossip mill.

"How are you going to contact him then?" said Mr. Weasley. He, too, had heard of powerful Egyptian magical objects taken from the doomed Auror operation.

"Kingsley," Ron said simply.

"And it will save Ginny's life?"

Ron and Hermione exchanged brief glances, then at Percy, silently asking him for his opinion. Percy, serious this time, nodded.

"We believe it will," said Ron.

Mrs. Weasley made a sound as if to cry but she instantly mastered herself. She turned an anxious face towards Ron. "How soon can you leave, Ronnie?" Mrs. Weasley said, reverting to her son's childhood nickname.

Ron gave Hermione only a brief glance then turned once again to his parents. "I'll leave now."

~o~

A/N: *Like the 'internets', Ginny would know the car as "Paganini" not because she has difficulty remembering words and names but they are things that are not really important to her and so doesn't pay close attention to


	7. Chapter 7

Harry Potter and the Necklace of Menat

Chapter 07

A/N: edited in response to reviewer Lija's comments

Harry sat on his haunches, balancing himself on one leg by the ball of a foot, while the other was firmly planted on the grassy soil, a forearm propped against his thigh. For the past two weeks, he, along with countless wizards from Serbia's Ministry of Magic, had been planting magical crystals all across the country, crystals that he himself had designed and created, ensuring that they would not be used for purposes other than what he had originally intended them to do. And he would have done the embeddings himself, but if he did, he would never be able to leave this country until he was old and decrepit. Harry straightened his back and looked around, inspecting his handiwork, visually checking for traces of magic. He stretched out a hand, palm face down, feeling for the same. Nothing. He nodded to himself in satisfaction and stood up.

He tilted his head up and gazed at the long stretch of mountain ranges before him — part of the Dinaric Mountains of Central Serbia — and noted the red, dying sun burning its last light of the day. Already darkness had encroached upon the edges of the wide expansive lands about him, creeping in like black smoke, settling first in the gloomy trees of the forest at the foothills of the mountains but gaining breadth all over the valley.

Harry then turned to look further up the hill where his companions were standing: a Roman Catholic priest sent directly from the Vatican and two Serbian Ministry of Magic employees — a Savage Creature Handler from their Department of Magical Creatures and an Auror in full alert mode (though Harry was sure that there were few people around, wizard or otherwise, and so there was very little chance of them being seen, or any danger at all that the creature they were hunting would make an unscheduled appearance). The three seemed content to just let Harry do his work. Harry signaled to them that he was finished and the priest and the Handler visibly relaxed — they were probably anxious not to disturb Harry while he was working and cause him to bungle up what he was doing while the other Auror acknowledged Harry with a nod of his own then Disapparated to report back to the Ministry.

Harry surveyed the land one last time, the dusk now fully upon them, then he walked back up the hill to rejoin the others. When he was near enough, the priest spoke (of Harry's companions, he was the only one comfortable enough to speak directly to Harry, the others seemed to be still in awe of him). "You think it will work?"

Harry shrugged then looked back towards the edge of the forest where he had just been. "I sure hope so. Or else, we may have to stay in the country for a little while longer."

The priest sighed. "Then, let's hope so."

Simply because of the nature of the creature and the grounds he had to cover, this was turning out to be one of the most difficult jobs Harry had to do in the last three months since he left England. Yes, job, for job it was his flight from England had become; officially, he was still on the payroll of the British Wizarding Ministry. Because upon Harry's arrival in Greece so soon after having made their plea for Harry's help at the International Wizarding Caucus, the Greek Ministry of Magic had treated Harry's appearance as an official one, and consequently afforded Harry with all the pomp and officiousness of such a visit, the Greeks acknowledging that what they were asking of Harry was a favor. Harry, keen not to offend and overwhelmed by the warm reception he was receiving from the Greeks, was thus forced to do everything by the book, including making a formal report to Kingsley. After the job was done though, Harry could only muster the energy to make a verbal report via Floo to Kingsley, who understood and made no further demands on him (like report to the International Auror Office, as was required of him). That initial discussion was rather brief and to the point, except for a few moments, when Kingsley mentioned Ron and Hermione and how the latter kept asking him about Harry. Kingsley did not say much, but from his few and carefully chosen words Harry had quickly gathered that Hermione was having a bad time of it and by the second week, he had caved in and sent for his two friends. It took him some time to reassure them, especially Hermione, that he held no grudges against them, that they were not the reason he left England, though neither would he give any reason why, only his word that nothing had changed between them. Harry did know, however, that his friends settled on 'guilt over Donaghy's death' as that which drove him away from England and Harry allowed them this assumption.

It had been a short and happy reunion with his friends, but once or twice, Harry would catch Ron staring into space looking as if he had just been run over by the Knight Bus but when Harry would ask him what was wrong, his two friends would exchange a quick look - Hermione's pleading - then Ron would try to compose his face into what Harry could only describe as a grimace of a smile and say, "I just can't believe you left so suddenly. Are you sure you're not mad at us?" (which Harry wasn't, of course).

Harry did not think much of it. It was an expression he was not unused to seeing on his friend's face, most often when an anniversary with Hermione was coming up, and Ron had forgotten to buy a gift, or buy a gift that he thought was good enough. So Harry let the moment pass.

Thus their friendship reaffirmed, the trio spent the next two days in happy companionship, although Harry, dreading any mention of Ginny happy with her new boyfriend, would not tolerate hearing any news from England and would immediately direct the conversation away to a new topic the moment they started. (In fact, he hadn't even picked up a newspaper ever since he left England for much the same reason.) Ron and Hermione noticed this at once and had followed Harry's example.

They also had fun with the Menat headdress and necklace. At some point in the last three months — Harry wasn't sure when — the sundisk's light had dimmed. So Ron, in particular, felt brave enough to play with the artifacts over Hermione's protests. Having read the Soay case files, Ron then dared Harry to throw a spell at him. But Harry had already given much thought to the mystery of how his spells had failed to connect with Galina while she was wearing the artifacts and, after a few tentative spells, Harry discovered several powerful deflection and absorption shields, particularly in the headdress. It was simply the magical version of the Muggles' Kevlar bullet proof vest and in no time Harry was able to develop a technique that would allow him to puncture through the headdress' shields. Hiding a grin under a look of deep concentration, Harry hit an unsuspecting Ron with a spell without uttering a single word or taking out his phoenix wand. Ron sputtered indignantly when he suddenly found himself wearing nothing but a cupid costume that looked suspiciously like the ones Lockhart's cupids used to wear. Ron scowled at Harry, who just sat back grinning smugly at him. Ron made a face as if to say: "I'll get you for this."

Harry also told them about a few of the jobs and places he'd been to. Although he could not let even his two best friends know most of the things he'd witnessed, things that were simply too horrific — not in the gory kind of way, he and his friends were made of sterner stuff than that — for him to let anyone know, least of all Hermione. But he did tell them about Greece and the Teumessian Fox which Harry had easily dealt with, no small thanks to the Hogwarts Centaurs' gift. After learning that there were still Centaurs living in the Greek islands, Harry travelled down to southwestern Greece where the descendants of the oldest Centaur tribe known to man could still be found. He then returned the weapons to the Centaurs he met there, thinking he no longer needed them. The Greek Centaurs reciprocated the gesture by giving Harry a magical acorn, telling him to plant the seed where his heart truly lie, and the tree would grow and bloom as abundantly as his love would, ensuring that his own relationships would prosper. Harry had stared at the Greek Centaur's Chief who had given him the seed for quite a long time, unmindful of the possibility that he might be doing something offensive. He was trying to find out why he had been given this particular gift, just when he had decided that true love was a happiness he could never have in this life, but the Chief held Harry's stare for just as long. From experience, Harry knew that Centaurs were quite discerning creatures, and saw more (and indeed, saw further) than most intelligent beings and he realized, _he was being given hope_. Did it mean he would eventually be with Ginny? For that was the only happiness he cared about: _her_, where his heart truly lie. Harry frowned, thinking, then looked at the rest of the tribe gathered around, all the centaurs looking wild, fierce, and _earthy_. They looked less woolly than their Hogwarts counterparts, but both tribes seemed to radiate with an ancient wisdom quite unknown to modern man with his complicated life and twisted self-preservation instincts. As a species, centaurs hadn't left far the grounds from which they had sprung, affording them a simpler view of life, choices a lot more clear-cut. And now they all smiled down at Harry, which he had thought at first was because he returned to them a great possession, but no, the smiles were just a bit too knowing, slightly condescending even, as if sharing a private joke. Harry made his leave then, thanking them for their hospitality and friendship and the gift. Whatever its significance was, Harry was grateful nonetheless.

But that was three months ago. No other event had happened since that would give him reason to believe that he could ever have Ginny's love back. Or her fancy, if that was all he ever had of her in the first place.

He had only seen his friends one other time after that (the weekend of his birthday, in fact, which Hermione insisted upon) but his brief reunions with his friends and one with Teddy were the sole bright spots in his life in the last three months. The rest of the time he busied himself with work, driving his nose to the ground until he was so tired that at night he could only plop down in bed and sleep and not have to think. He would have been content. But Hermione had mentioned how Teddy had started to frequently stand at the front door waiting for his godfather, often refusing to come in when Andromeda would call him to go back inside the house. Or how Teddy had begun to ask when Harry would be back, sometimes insisting his grandmother Floo Hermione to ask the same. Teddy simply couldn't understand Harry's abrupt disappearance and prolonged absence. So Harry had no choice but to have Kreacher bring Teddy and Andromeda to a remote island somewhere in the Indian Ocean. Thankfully, Andromeda didn't ask too many questions. Harry then had a heart to heart talk with his godson, explaining to Teddy that he had a job to do away from Britain, like fighting fire-breathing dragons (which Harry hadn't, for the creatures he had to fight were not the kind that he could tell Teddy), dragons that if Harry didn't fight would head next to England and eat all the children there. Teddy wouldn't want dragons to come to England and eat all the children, would he? Teddy fervently shook his head no and agreed that Harry should stay and do all he could to stop the dragons from coming to England. Harry tried to make it sound like an adventure, promising his godson all sorts of gifts and souvenirs when he returned so that Teddy would get used to the idea that it would take Harry awhile to return back home.

And a while indeed it was starting to look like before Harry could return back to England, though this time, it would not be by choice. Harry had been in Serbia for three weeks now, longer than he had ever been in one place, far longer than he had ever anticipated being in one place. But Harry had no choice. The lay of the land, the nature of the creature itself, and the range in which it stalked the land was such that it was nigh impossible to capture it. Serbia's Ministry of Magic had been trying to do so for quite a while now but obviously had been unsuccessful. The creature had been plaguing the country since December, the attacks so severe that they even reached Muggle news. But what Muggles didn't know was the extent and severity of the attacks, for the creature — a Drekavac — was primarily a wizard monster, and the deaths in the wizarding world had been particularly high.

Many believed the creature to be the regional variant of the chupacabra, for eyewitness descriptions of the two creatures appeared to be similar; in fact, in the Drekavac's case, the descriptions for its appearance were as varied as the sightings. A Drekavac came into being when a child died without having received the grace of baptism, and was bodiless, incorporeal - the reason for its shape-shifting abilities and its need for animal blood to give it form, hence the Muggle sightings as it attacked livestock. Its one constant feature was its horrific screams, the wailing of a tortured soul - its own - and a portent of what awaited its intended victim. The creature would wait until nightfall to appear, often in dreams, and strangle its victims to death. Out of the mists it would form and into it the creature would disappear the moment it felt threatened, and that was why it was so difficult to capture, let alone kill. The Drekavac found by the Muggles had just fed; sated with blood, the creature was unable to disappear back into the mist, and thus was killed. But what was destroyed was merely its mortal form, for the creature could not truly be killed unless it be baptized or had finally found its peace, its soul's satisfaction.

Upon arriving in the country and having been apprised of the situation, Harry at first was taken aback by the number of casualties. But then again, it had to be, given that it had already reached the Muggles' attention. At first he attended the meetings held by the task force set up by the Serbian Ministry, but on the second day, news came that another victim had died, a young girl. Harry then asked if he could reconnoiter the country, particularly the central region wherein most of the attacks seemed to be concentrated. It was Standard Operational Procedure really, but often Harry used the opportunity to clear his head and allow his instincts to take over, enabling him to process subconsciously clues and information that often helped him in solving cases. However, when a member of the task force - obviously a Muggle-born - timidly mentioned that all sorts of information about Serbia were already on the internet and wouldn't it just be easier if Harry googled them instead? Harry couldn't help the small smile that formed on his lips.

Harry had power but a linguist, he wasn't - yet. In the last three months he had learned that there were certain skills he needed and for which there were no shortcuts: languages he had to learn the old-fashioned way. And he vowed to work on it in his free time and acquire at least half the language skills Dumbledore had. So another member of the task force, a dark-haired, painfully beautiful female Auror was assigned as Harry's official interpreter and now took it upon herself to answer on Harry's behalf.

"When you find a computer or cellphone or any other Muggle gadget that would work within the vicinity of Mr. Potter, Mr. Obrenovic, do let us know," she said aloud in English. The said Mr. Obrenovic, whose seat neighbor seemed to helpfully whisper the translation, reddened and mumbled a reply which he alone heard.

Later that night, the female Auror accompanied Harry all the way to his quarters and lingered for a while. She tried to draw Harry in with an unfettered kiss, hungrily pushing her body — a body that was all woman in all the right places — into his. Harry was sorely tempted, it had been so long since he'd been with a woman, but he knew what he would feel when he woke up the next morning. He had been hiding his feelings from Ginny for so long and what did it get him? Now he was forced to literally run away from her. But there was nowhere in the world, nowhere he could go where he would not be in love with Ginny. He could not be any more wretched. And so he gently untangled the Serbian Auror's arms from his neck, where she had attached them, gave her a sad smile, and wished her "good night".

The female Auror pulled back and gazed into Harry's handsome face. Then she brushed the back of her hand against _him _and knew that he was not wholly unaffected; but Harry gently removed her hand away from his body. She sighed, gave him one last, long look and then moved to pick up her things from an armchair where she had placed them earlier. Then she turned back to Harry and said, "Whoever she is, Mr. Potter, I hope she's worth it" then left Harry alone in a darkened room where the only light came in through the window from an overcast moon.

The next morning, several members of the task force, riding on broomsticks (though one flew in his bird Animagus form), accompanied Harry as he aerially surveyed the country, familiarizing himself with the lay of the land. He himself had Transfigured into a golden eagle commonly seen in the area. He was the only wizard currently known who could hold his full animal transfigurations indefinitely, the average for most wizards (the few who were even capable of doing it), was an hour, though Harry knew Kingsley and Bill could hold theirs for several. Flying just underneath the cloud cover, despite the land's magnificent beauty Harry was immediately disheartened by what he saw. The country was simply vast, with hills and mountains, valleys cut through with bodies of water, and forests constantly shrouded in impenetrable mists. There were simply too many places the creature could easily appear from and disappear into.

They spent the entire day on the reconnaissance mission. Harry also checked for himself the caves and other possible nesting places of the creature, making sure that it was not a member of a pack, and thereafter sealing the caves from magical infestations. The group concentrated their investigations on where the attacks had been more frequent. Finally, just when the sun was about to set, they flew back to the task force's field office set up in a _poljane zupa_ - the deserted settlement buildings camouflaging the Ministry of Magic's offices - to facilitate fast response time for reports of fresh attacks. Other members of the task force were already waiting on the ground for the recon group's return and hurried to meet Harry as the group landed on the open field. A couple of meters from the ground, Harry ended the transfiguration spell, landing gracefully on the soft ground on his two feet, while the other wizards made a fast, whooshing sound as they flew past him and then a soft thump! thump! as one by one, the other members landed around him.

As Harry straightened up, he kept his head down, deliberately avoiding the expectant looks the Serbs were giving him; it was, after all, but a simple reconnoiter. He was also still processing what he had seen and didn't want small talk to crowd and confuse his mind.

His interpreter was also there, but she and Harry both chose to ignore the incident of the previous night and acted as they had done before. Finally, Harry turned to one of the Aurors, the head of the task force, one of those who had accompanied Harry in the aerial reconnaissance and spoke.

"I'd like to meet with the victims' families, please, as well as the eyewitnesses."

"Yes, Mr. Potter."

Harry nodded. There would be a meeting at the Ministry soon after, but his presence was not necessary and so he took the rest of the day off.

It took the Ministry a whole day to gather as many of the witnesses as they could. Harry devoted the time to reading all the files relating to the case instead. So when the interview began, he simply contented himself with listening to the victims' families and the eyewitness accounts, interrupting only to clarify certain things. The more he listened, the more Harry realized that the easiest way to deal with the Drekavac was to simply stop it materializing in the first place. That would mean removing its primary mode of appearance: the fog. Harry simply hated the idea. It was, to say the least, stupid to the point of inanity. A stop-gap measure to be sure, but when people's lives were at stake, stop-gap would have to do for now.

He also hated the kind of magic involved, which interfered with nature. Who knew what effect it would eventually have, given the earth's closed system? But he had no choice. He couldn't stay forever in the country just to wait for the creature to appear.

But slowly a plan concretized in his mind. Halfway through the interrogations, Harry asked for the list of wizards in the country, quickly scanning the files while continuing to listen to the witnesses. He waited until the last of them had finished and then left with the other task force members back to the operations center in a room nearby.

The operations center could only be described as dark. A huge black wooden oval table dominated the entire room, which was similarly paneled in dark wood. But a hint of gold in the thin accent moldings edging the ceiling and the wainscoting served to break the monotonous colour. At the far side of the room hung the room's other focal point, a Shield decorated with the country's White Eagle heraldic emblem, originally the family crest of a wizarding noble family dating back to the Middle Ages.

Everyone immediately took their places around the table but waited for Harry to speak first. He understood only too well why the Serbians seemed to be hanging on his every move and word - they had been grappling with the problem for the last nine months and had gotten nowhere. Some in the building and even in the room had lost either a friend or a loved one to the creature. Now they were looking to him to deliver them from this dreadful evil. Harry, growing more self-conscious as the Serbs continued to stare at him, suddenly felt his throat run dry. He felt the urge to take a big gulp but thought to do so would not be too confidence-inspiring so he kept his face immobile as he organized the thoughts in his head.

Harry wasn't sure at first how to begin. Blurting out "We should stop fogs from forming" didn't sound too professional to him or someone who was supposedly the world's top Auror would come up with - the comment would surely be met with incredulity, if not derision. So he sat there, thinking how best to put his idea forth (because, unfortunately, it was the only solution that came to his head). In the end he took a deep breath, and, acknowledging the fact that he had never been one for words, pulled out his phoenix wand and started conjuring a crystal. He concentrated hard, thinking the incantation _Desiccato_!, embedding the magic in every base unit of the crystal. He had to create the magic just right so that it wouldn't drain all the water out of the air, just enough so that fog or mist would not form. He also made sure that the crystal would work only at night (for the Drekavac was a nocturnal creature), the better to hide the absence of mists from Muggle eyes. Finally, he was done, but the Serbians still looked clueless as to what he was doing, so Harry said simply:

"This crystal would prevent the formation of fog in the air at night."

"And so would prevent the Drekavac from appearing in the first place?" asked Harry's interpreter. "That's brilliant, Mr. Potter," she said, clapping down a hand on the table, open admiration on her face. There was a slight hubbub as all around the table the other members of the task force passed the information amongst themselves.

"Actually, it's just a temporary measure. The crystal itself is not completely indestructible. And over time, it might lose its potency, and the Drekavac could return - angrier, more vicious, more bloodthirsty."

"So, what do we do now, Mr. Potter?"

So Harry laid out his plan. They would all start embedding the crystals all over the land, from the borders of Serbia inward, but they would keep a certain area free of the crystals, the area in the Central Serbian region where most attacks had occurred; for something seemed to be drawing the creature to those parts or perhaps that was where it had originated. Harry, taking a wild guess, chose one particular household, wherein lived the sole wizarding family for miles around. They would try to draw the creature there, keeping the area free of the crystals while denying it access to the rest of the country. So Harry spent the next few days creating the crystals and teaching the others how to plant them, in particular, how to keep the magic concealed so as not to spook the creature into moving into other, yet unprotected, parts or even to neighboring countries.

And that was what they had been doing in the past couple of weeks, with Harry concentrating his efforts in the target area. Harry had requested only a skeleton force. He didn't want the area to be crawling with wizards as it might scare the creature away. That's why he had only three companions with him: the Savage Creature Handler who was Serbia's foremost Drekavac expert, the Serbian Auror who was their official liaison with the Ministry of Magic, and since the wizarding household where they would be staying was Roman Catholic, a priest from that denomination. For, if they couldn't find out what caused the Drekavac to appear in the first place, then a blessing would be their only option of getting rid of the creature once and for all.

With the Auror reporting back to the Ministry that the last crystal had been placed, Harry, the priest, and the Handler began walking back to the wizarding home where they were temporarily billeted. The Ministry now would start activating the crystals around the Central Serbian region (they had already done so in the peripheral areas of the country) so that it would have no choice but to appear where Harry wanted it. The Handler, who was walking ahead of Harry and the priest, kept throwing them back disgruntled looks as they all wended their way through the rows of grape vines, the farm's main output. The Handler seemed put out that they had to move the "Muggle way" when they could easily Disapparate to return back to the house. But Harry was starting to feel the adrenaline build-up — he usually got this way just before an operation began and so needed the walk-off to calm his jangled nerves.

The priest, Fr. Lockefeer, seemed to notice Harry's unease and kept quiet by his side. Truth be told, Harry was probably more interested in the priest than the other way around. Since arriving in the house, they never really had much chance to talk because Harry had been busy and too exhausted by the end of the day to really engage the priest in more than casual conversation. But now Harry had the chance to ask the priest a few questions. For one thing, he was a little bit surprised when he was informed that the Catholic Church had sent a priest all the way from the Vatican to help them deal with the creature. The presence of the priest was necessary, but that the Vatican took an active part in the operation surprised him.

When they were first introduced, Harry had offered his hand but the priest hesitated for a few seconds before he took up Harry's proffered handshake. It puzzled Harry but he took it in stride. Over the years he had learned that there were very few things in this life worth sweating over - and the priest had never been anything but friendly and warm towards him since they met.

At first, Harry was taken aback at how unpriestly Fr. Lockefeer seemed. He did not fit at all with Harry's mental image of what a priest should look like. For one thing, he was obviously magical. Not very many could, but Harry immediately felt the priest's hidden power. It just might be the wizard in Fr. Lockefeer, but he looked remarkably well-preserved for an eighty-year old. He actually looked more like he was in his late forties or early fifties — a very tall, blond, muscular, forty-fiftyish man. Harry had the strong feeling that the priest was a wizard one ought not to tangle with.

As they walked, Harry suddenly was reminded of Soay and the _fiendfyre _that he should never have been able to destroy and he told Fr. Lockefeer this.

"Father, in our last operation, one of the suspects cast a _fiendfyre _curse. Have you heard of it?"

"Of course. One of the darkest curses around. Very hard to control, even by the one who cast it."

"Father, I've read that the only spell that could stop the creature could only be cast by fully ordained priests, but I was desperate and I shouted the charm anyway. And it worked."

"I am not surprised. It has happened before. Hundreds of years ago, a young Muggle-born wizard in England wanted to become a priest but he was needed by his family to tend the farms. Then the Vikings came and raided their village. They gathered most of the villagers into the church. The young boy was up in the hills at the time, but he rushed back home when he saw the church burning, and he found the fiendfyre still raging. In those days, the fiendfyre was a common weapon of fear and destruction by the Viking wizards. So he was not unfamiliar with the creature and the countercharm for the curse. Unfortunately, he was too late. No one survived the conflagration. Most of the villagers were taken into the church, the rest the raiders took with them back to their ships, to make slaves of them. It wasn't certain whether he was the lone survivor, but the boy left their village to travel all the way to Rome, where we train our magical priests. And that's how his story came to the Church's knowledge."

"So, the belief that only priests can cast the countercharm is not true then?"

"Unfortunately, it is true. Up to a certain point." Fr. Lockefeer inclined his head a little towards Harry as he spoke. "The fiendfyre is one of the greatest evils known to man, Mr. Potter, for it devours everything, not just the matter of whatever it comes upon; it consumes even that which death is not even supposed to touch."

"You mean the soul?"

"Yes. So you see now just how evil it is?" the priest said. He stopped and turned to face Harry fully. "It would take uncommon good to defeat such uncommon evil. And for you to overpower it with a simple countercharm..." He fixed Harry with his stare so intently that it made Harry very uncomfortable.

"Erm, Father, I have no plans of becoming a priest. I'm not even Catholic," Harry said, scratching the back of his neck.

Fr. Lockefeer laughed loudly, throwing back his head. At length, he calmed down. "I wasn't expecting you to," he said, still chuckling. "It's just, I'm no stranger to strange things happening, Mr. Potter, and yet you somehow still manage to surprise me. I've heard so many things about you. Half of which I could hardly believe are true," he said. "But some things are simply undeniable. Some things just can't be faked."

They turned and resumed their walk back to the house, openly discussing magic and everything else Harry could think of as Fr. Lockefeer was very accommodating with his answers. Harry was amazed that the priest knew so much about magic, particularly how it worked and Harry learned a lot from the priest. Harry was even more surprised to learn that Muggles knew about magic, though they didn't understand it as such.

"They've seen it, Muggles. They actually have proof of it. They just call it quantum physics," the priest said, laughing. "My favorite is the so-called 'Observer Effect' where an observer can influence the way an electron behaves - a wave or a particle - depending on his expectations." (At this point, Fr. Lockefeer's words began to wash over Harry's head. His life in the Muggle world with the Dursleys seemed so long ago it felt like it had been from another lifetime, and he understood none of what the priest was saying.)

"It has been known for decades now that there's seemingly a disparity about the way laws of nature behave: Newtonian physics for the big things and quantum for the really small ones," the priest continued, unaware of Harry's wandering attention, or perhaps simply ignoring it. "And apparently, we magical humans are the missing link," said Fr. Lockefeer, smiling. "That's how we're able to do magic, Mr. Potter. That's where our ability to manipulate the material world around us comes from."

Harry suddenly grew quiet. He realized that the priest wasn't telling him all these things for no reason. Harry stopped walking and faced the priest once again so that Fr. Lockefeer was obliged to do the same.

"Why are you telling me this, Father?"

"To help," the priest said simply. "You have so much power in you, Mr. Potter. And your recent experiences have done nothing but add to that power even more. I felt it the first time we met. That's why I was apprehensive to touch you. I was afraid that I might get magical shock," the priest said, smiling. Then he looked kindly at Harry. "You should be able to use it well, competently, for it to do your bidding and not be its slave." Then Fr. Lockefeer turned back to the path once again. "It's safer for everyone," he called back to Harry.

Harry, chastened, rejoined Fr. Lockefeer. He didn't know he was bleeding off power anew, the way he had immediately after his defeat of Voldemort. And with his emotions so out of whack lately, he could have done serious damage. He and Fr. Lockefeer then resumed their conversation. This time, Fr. Lockefeer was more direct in his instructions to Harry on the control of magic. Though the priest was not a little impressed with Harry's extensive knowledge of magic thanks to Dumbledore's book, still it became painfully obvious that Harry still had a lot to learn.

At length they returned to the property owned by the wizarding family playing host to them. Once they crossed the white wooden palings fencing off the property, Harry instinctively looked up the second floor window and thought the curtains in the front room moved. Harry bent his head down and smiled. Ever since he arrived, the only child in the house, Senka, a brown-haired, wide-eyed, eight-year old girl, had been watching him non-stop, but only if she thought Harry was not looking. Once, he saw in the living room a children's book which turned out to be about him, written in Serbian. It was opened to the page illustrating his, Ron's and Hermione's escape from Gringotts on a dragon. Harry often saw Senka carrying the book around, pinned under her arm. She never spoke a word to him and when she and Harry happened to be in the same room, either she would run away or hide behind her mother's or her elder sister's or maternal grandmother's skirt from where she would peer up at Harry, her eyes round. Harry immediately liked her, for she reminded him of a young girl once, long ago, who also used to not be able to speak in his presence.

In fact, Harry liked the family - well, the women, anyway, especially the grandmother, Baba. Harry was at first surprised upon arriving in the country to learn that of all the magical disciplines, soothsaying was generally acknowledged in the country and that Baba was quite well known as an honest-to-goodness Seer, not at all of the Trelawney kind. Even among Muggles, her prophetic abilities were quite well known — though Muggles had no clue as to the extent of her powers. She offered no explanations for her abilities, only that it was given most definitely. By what or whom she could not rightly say, but she believed in a higher power, the Christian God. Her abilities were as they were; she accepted them wholly. But neither would she profit from her gift. Harry respected the old woman immensely.

The only male in the house, Senka's father, was a Muggle. When he learned that he had married into a witching family, he resented it, believing he had been tricked into the marriage. But it was a country that kept its institutions and upheld its traditions, and he stuck to the marriage, now reduced to a mere convenience. Unfortunately, his resentment had spilled over to include even his own children, all three of them. He refused to have them baptized, even as the second child, a boy named Pavle, lay dying of bone cancer. He stuck to his prejudice. Not even when Fr. Lockefeer came, joining them for dinner the night he arrived. The man only sat staring incredulously at the priest, who was wearing his frock. And when he had recovered from his shock, the father threw his napkin on his empty plate in disgust, stood up, and limped out of the house — he had a game leg from a farming accident when he was still a young man — banging the door behind him. Their two Serbian guides sat extremely red-faced at the table, and the Handler looked even ready to run after the Muggle, to confront him most likely. Harry himself had been furious with indignation on the priest's behalf, who, like Harry, was providing his services completely _en gratis_, but Fr. Lockefeer himself waved the incident aside, saying, "Don't mind me. I'm used to it. Some people even take offense that I should have ever become a priest," he said laughingly. And then he embarked on a long, amusing tale involving a dwarf, a troll, a goblin, and a chest of treasure.

Even when he first arrived to interview the inhabitants of the house, Harry knew his instincts had been right in choosing this family. He asked for the picture of the young boy, who was nine when he succumbed to his illness. Had Pavle lived, he would have been thirteen now. Staring at Harry from the photo was a very pale young boy with dark circles round his eyes, painfully thin and small for his age. The photo was taken when the disease had already started its relentless ravaging of the boy's body, but there was no sign at all of the pain the child must have been suffering from in his bright smile as he posed for his older sister's camera.

The family knew of the attacks, even the father. And Harry suspected that deep down, the adults all had their suspicions about the creature but refused to acknowledge the possibility that their beloved Pavle had turned into a monster. And the more Harry asked the mother about her son, the harder became the expression on her face. But Harry couldn't stop. Many had already died, and many more certainly would if nothing were to be done about it. He had to persist, otherwise he would just be wasting everyone's time. And Harry did try to do it the gentlest way he knew how. But, really, how do you debride a festering wound and still be gentle about it?

So Harry and the two Serbian Task Force members settled into the wizarding house. The fact that Harry was staying there was kept secret save for the most relevant personnel in the Ministry to prevent busybodies from descending on the valley. The family understood their reason to stay there, the Serbian Ministry taking care of the team's entire needs so their presence would not be a hardship on the family.

Fr. Lockefeer had arrived at the house a day after Harry and the Serbs, the Auror leaving to fetch the priest himself. So it was just Harry and the Handler left at the house. The Handler was not as fluent in English as the Auror, and his and Harry's conversations were limited to short sentences and single words.

Harry, who was then studying the wards around the perimeter of the house to make sure that he didn't accidentally set them off and blow the house up, couldn't help but notice the looks the grandmother kept giving him. She and Senka stood by watching him and the Handler work, in case their guests needed anything. She seemed impatient to say something to Harry. Finally unable to contain herself any longer, she walked right up to Harry, tapped him on the arm and tried to tell Harry something, grabbing a handful of her hair.

"_Izvinite. Ne razumem."_ Harry said. They were the only Serbian words he'd learned to speak so far, aside from hello.

The Handler, who was standing nearby tending to a Thestral he had brought along with him, heard the exchange and turned to look at them. Harry looked back at him expectantly. The Handler then called out to the old woman, presumably to ask her what she was trying to say. They exchanged a few words and then the Handler turned to Harry and said aloud:

"She said, 'You. Woman. Head of fire.'"

Harry schooled his face to remain expressionless. He stood there, calmly staring back at Baba as if he were waiting for further explanation. But Baba shook her head impatiently, seemingly dissatisfied with the translation of her words as they did not bring any reaction out of Harry. Then she turned to the Handler again, talking more animatedly. She continued to emphatically grab fistfuls of her hair shouting what sounded to Harry like "vatra".

The Handler gave her a few more seconds of his time, wrinkling his brows in what would be a show of effort to understand her, then once again he turned back to Harry and said, "She says: You. Woman. Head. Fire," saying each word slowly this time.

"Psah!" Baba shouted at him, raising an arm in a gesture of annoyance then finally waving a hand dismissively at the Handler. But he merely shrugged his shoulders and returned to brushing down the body of the Thestral.

Baba then turned to Harry, looked up at him with a most earnest expression on her face and touched him gently on the cheek. Then she said with an emphatic nod of her head, "Voleti". And with that turned and walked back to the house. Senka was waiting for her a few steps away. Baba held out her hand to her granddaughter who took it up immediately and together, the two females went back inside the house, Senka frequently turning her head back to look at Harry.

Harry then turned around and walked right towards the fence surrounding the property, busying himself with checking the wards again, keeping his face hidden, pretending that he made nothing of Baba's words, yet his heart was doing Olympic somersaults inside his chest. Fucking felt like the entire Cirque du Soleil was in there. If he had been waiting for any more sign that there was still hope for him yet with Ginny, it was Baba's words.

Now that the final crystals had been embedded, there was nothing to do but wait. By now, the magical crystals in the rest of the country would be fully active, and if the creature wanted to make an appearance, there was no place for it to do so but around these parts. Members of the task force had been posted all over the region, ready to answer a call should the Drekavac finally appear. But all the human deaths attributed to it were magical, and Harry was willing to bet his right arm that he was right in choosing this house.

They all had an early supper and turned in early for the night with Harry taking first watch, his companions sleeping together in a room downstairs, while he was given a room up in the attic. They all had had a long day. Harry didn't think that he could sleep anyway, not sure that his plan would work.

But Harry was far from complacent. The adrenaline, the anticipation that something was going to happen tonight, was upon him and though he should be tired, Harry knew that sleep wouldn't come. He lay on the bed, the lights out, and looked out the window where the pregnant moon hung heavy in the night sky.

As usual, whenever he found himself alone in the dark, his body began to cry its need for Ginny. It was a constant demand really that began when he first realized he was attracted to her. Unsatisified and unheeded over the years, it only managed to get even worse, especially the morning when Ron and Hermione left for Australia. Harry was just coming down from Ron's room to bring his laundry down to Mrs. Weasley who had asked for them earlier at breakfast when he passed by Ginny's room, the door of which was half-open. She was doing her nails, a leg up, propped against a chair. She was wearing a mini-skirt and Harry couldn't help but steal a glance at her legs that was _oh-so-invitingly _presented to him. Ginny looked up at him, beaming as she greeted him. Harry tried to discreetly lower the pile of dirty clothes he was carrying, trying to hide the evidence that his own thoughts were becoming as filthy every second he stood by her door.

He was edgy for the rest of that day. He had never felt his youth more keenly than at that time. At supper, he absolutely refused to look Ginny's way as his eyes kept wanting to stray down her chest. And whether Mrs. Weasley sensed Harry's rioting hormones or not, she kept Ginny close by her side and Harry never had a chance to even go near Ginny.

That night, alone in Ron's room in the attic, Harry couldn't sleep. He was so randy that even his phoenix wand was vibrating, probably picking up on his emotions. And that was after he had already tried to work off his need by flying for several hours in the Burrow's makeshift Quidditch field and taking two cold showers. Still, the very devil was upon him. But he couldn't very well wank off to that image of Ginny in her room in her parents' own house. So the very next day, Harry made an excuse to leave for Grimmauld Place, but with every intention to attend dinner every night at the Burrow. But Kreacher, so happy to be reunited with his master, overdid himself in preparing every dish he knew Harry liked, laboring over the feast the entire week and Harry just didn't have the heart to tell his house-elf that he would be eating dinner at the Burrow instead. Days after, Kingsley had asked for his help, and Ministry work became so demanding that often Harry's days blended into the night and he never had the chance to return to the Burrow, let alone talk to Ginny. But ever since, that day at the Burrow was one that Harry would always remember. In fact, he often thought that he had better sex wanking to that inspiring image of Ginny than he had with any girl he'd ever been with.

The past three months had been harrowing. Often he found himself looking at the time and wondering where Ginny was and what she was doing. He ached to see her once more. Just to see her. But at the same time he dreaded meeting her again. What would he say to her? How would he explain his abrupt departure that day at the Burrow? It was rather boorish of him to have walked out on her like that: what must she think of him?

Harry still cringed at the memory of that day. How he almost kissed her — and she with a boyfriend and all, a boyfriend that she obviously deeply loved. How he nearly pounced on her when he could not even remember if she had shown any sign at all that she was also attracted to him. Looking back, he now realized that she hadn't been anything but warm and friendly towards him — as she'd always been with everyone. But he now thought that it had all been a mere delusion, the physical awareness between them, the sexual tension he felt at that time. That he was just projecting his own need upon her, imagining she felt the same towards him. Could he have made a bigger arse of himself?

There was simply no excuse for his behavior and he hated himself for his hypocrisy. He'd already been with women and why shouldn't he expect Ginny to be the same? No matter how he tried to justify it to himself that those times he'd been with other women were simply because he was lonely just didn't wash anymore, even to himself. It was even disrespectful of the women he'd been with, even though not once had he pretended to any of them that what he was seeking was more than he could give.

He tried not to think what drove him into another woman's arms in the first place. It was at the family get-together at the Burrow a year and a half after the Battle. Harry was a couple of hours late coming to the party, but he was determined to attend, hoping Ginny would be there. He arrived at the front of the property and headed straight towards the back where he knew the tables would be laid. As he rounded the house, he stopped at the sight that greeted him: Ginny playing with little Freddie. She was wearing a simple white summer dress cut just right above the knee and was playing catch-up with little Freddie, throwing him up in the air, letting go for a few seconds and catching him as he came down again. Little Freddie was giggling and squealing his delight as Ginny kissed him on the tummy, the side of his neck — basically anywhere on his plump body she could lay her lips upon. A slight breeze was whipping her long, red hair and a part of her skirt, enough to tantalize Harry of what lay underneath. But it was the domesticity, the simple happiness that the scene promised that went to his heart. He was about to walk up to her, planning to spend the rest of that day by her side. He wasn't afraid then. He was among family and he was determined to tell Ginny once and for all how he really felt about her. But just then, out of nowhere, a tall man he did not know, cocktail glass in hand, lazily ambled his way towards Ginny and placed a possessive arm on her shoulder. She turned her face towards the bloke then, away from Harry. Harry felt as if he had been sucker-punched, his dream snatched right before him. He abruptly turned around and left the Burrow, with no one noticing that he had even arrived. Since then he had seldom attended any of the family's get-together, burying himself deep in work, and at nights when he found himself alone at Grimmauld, buried himself in nameless Muggle women in a series of meaningless, one-night stands.

But that was months ago. He had stopped sleeping with strange women long before his last visit to the Burrow. He just realized that sex had become worthless; it wasn't giving him any joy or satisfaction at all. Not anymore. One time, right in the middle of the act with a woman he'd picked up at a bar, a thought came suddenly to his head unbidden: "This isn't Ginny." He stood up abruptly, made a shame-faced, bumbling apology and left. And that was the last time he had sex.

And now the prospect of seeing Ginny once again grew larger, becoming clearer. The thought had been growing in his mind: to come home. There had been other requests for him to work on but nothing that he could not walk away from, nothing like this job anymore or as urgent; he had deliberately chosen to attend first to those he seemed he was most needed. The rest he thought could wait or others could very well attend to.

Now that there was some time and distance between them, he had acquired a bit more perspective and he had lost much of the angst he'd felt the day he left the Burrow. He just missed her, that's all. Just to be near her was enough for now, to know that she was safe, happy — even at the cost of his own. But to be away from her? He just couldn't do it. He just couldn't conceive of a future without Ginny in his life.

True, it still hurt to think of Ginny being in love with another man but the Greek Centaurs' gift and Baba's words had given him hope like nothing could. He still had a chance. He hadn't completely bollixed it all up with her.

For an Ace Auror such as he supposedly was, it was such a spineless, cowardly thing to do, not letting her know his feelings for her. That she was his one vulnerability was no excuse, considering Ginny was supposed to have become the most important person in his life.

His justification, that it was simple respect and common courtesy that he kept his distance away whenever Ginny was involved with some other guy, seemed shallow now that he thought about it. He should have been selfish and demanded her attention, instead of letting other men come between them who he was sure would not love her as much as he did. If he really had wanted to, he could have found time, insinuated himself into the family home, assigned himself to monitor all the games wherein Ginny played, instead of just making sure that her games and public appearances were guarded at all times. To have just been there, been near her, and himself created the opportunity to tell her his feelings. But he was lulled into thinking that he had time, that Ginny would always be there.

But now it seemed his time had run out. Ginny obviously cared now for another man. But if a shred of her former regard still remained, if it were any real, he was hoping that she would at least talk to him and hear him out even though there was no excuse justifiable for keeping his feelings hidden for so long. The years before the end of the war, perhaps he might have been justified in keeping his feelings for her secret, but there was really no excuse for him thereafter. He had dallied too long. He had to travel halfway around the world to realize what he had done.

And yet perhaps it was not too late. He should let her know, at the very least, that he'd always been in love with her. That she would always have him as an option. It was the right thing to do. It was hers anyway, had always been hers. Always. _Always_.

He could just imagine her standing before him now, wearing that white summer dress she had been wearing at that get-together. She would look now just as she looked then. She had always been beautiful. But more than that, she was Ginny. But now he saw her face marred with anger and deep resentment and he couldn't blame her. Harry could just hear the accusations coming from her. His own guilty conscience was voicing out the worst of what he imagined her recriminations against him would be.

"Did you ever really love me Harry? Where in what you have done in the last several years was love?"

"If you truly loved me, then I didn't have to wait."

"What good is your love if all I ever knew about it was pain or heartache or neglect?"

And Harry would be hard put to prove to her he loved her.

"Even if you did, I'll never believe in it, Harry. I can't trust that you won't ever hurt me," Ginny answered back. And then she turned around and started to walk away.

Harry called out to her. But Ginny suddenly was riding her broomstick and she was flying fast away from him. Harry immediatley transformed into a bird and flew after her. But Ginny was too far away, flying towards the sea. Harry flew hard trying to close the distance between them but the harder he flapped his wings the farther Ginny seemed to speed away from him. He tried Transfiguring, Apparating near Ginny, but somehow could not. His magic seemed to have deserted him, his heavy heart tamping down his power. The air seemed to solidify about him and he found it harder and harder to fly. He flapped his wings harder but he just couldn't get any lift. Finally, he fell down, down in the still, blackish water underneath him.

He began to sink down the deep, dark water. He struggled to breathe but couldn't and Harry knew he was drowning. Something seemed to be sucking the very air in his lungs, his eyes popping at the lack of oxygen. And then he heard it: faint, but unmistakable, a horrific scream. And it was getting louder and louder, as if it were coming near his ears. And then it hit him — he was dreaming! Sometime during his musings he had fallen asleep and now the Drekavac was attacking. Harry struggled, clawing at his throat where he could now feel long-fingered hands clamped down around his neck, sharp talons of a claw digging into his jugular vein. He tried to wake up but just couldn't and felt himself sinking, but this time he was really beginning to lose conscious thought, his mind becoming cloudy. _No, he will not die like this! _Harry thought, the face of Ginny in his mind. With a powerful burst of magic, Harry broke through the spell, the magical wave shaking the house down to its foundations. Harry finally opened his eyes and stared right back to a pair of wild, red eyes, dark with putrid hatred. His attacker leapt back from the bed but Harry waved his wand and the air crackled and popped as tiny water molecules in the air began to solidify, denying the Drekavac an escape. It screamed, rending the air with its sharp, piercing cry as it vocalized its frustration. Losing its ability to disappear, it ran towards the open window, jumped through and out into the dark night.

Deciding not to transform as he needed his wand, Harry, heart hammering, jumped after the creature through the same window — a height of more than twenty feet off the ground, landing agilely. With his initial burst of magic, Harry had powered the crystals to fully activate and the Drekavac truly had no magical means of escape, inside and outside the property.

Harry thus ran after the creature on foot, magic powering his every step, every leap. He moved like no Muggle could ever move, clearing hedges and jumping over streams easily. Suddenly a ball of fire came hurtling out of nowhere and flew past and around him. Harry stopped, momentarily distracted, his wand up and ready. But almost at once a voice that sounded a lot like Fr. Lockefeer's echoed at the back of his head: "Harry, it's me! Go! Run after the creature!"

Harry, understanding and feeling quite stupid, regained the pursuit. Soon they were joined by the Auror and the Savage Creature Handler, the Auror on a broomstick, the latter on his Thestral. They were herding the Drekavac towards the open field where Harry had planted the crystals earlier. The monster, in an effort to escape, would, from time to time, leap at the Auror and the Handler, but the two were prepared and would instantly fly higher out of the Drekavac's reach. Harry, on the other hand, it seemed to be afraid of and kept running far away from him, putting as much distance between them as it could.

At last, they reached the open part of the field where the creature was completely hemmed in, to its back by the wall of trees where hidden hundreds of Harry's now active crystals, the air humming with magic. And in a semi-circle in front of it, Harry, the two Serbians, and the priest, moving around as a ball of fire, denying the Drekavac any inch of escape.

Finally the creature, tiring, fell down to its knees, heaving and panting. Harry waved his wand. The circle of earth upon which it stood darkened as the spell Harry had cast took effect, locking the Drekavac inside the circle.

For a time Harry and the rest just stood there — Fr. Lockefeer having transformed himself back to human — unsure of what to do. The creature, weakening, had started to lose its monstrous appearance, which Harry only now could see and was slowly turning back to the ghostly form of its human self. It was the weirdest humanoid creature Harry had ever seen, looking every bit a mishmash of terrifying features, as if it couldn't make up what it wanted to look like. Patches of its skin were tinged in dark blue, some a ghastly greenish. Some smooth and hairy, on other parts, scaly. There were spikes that stood for hair in a part of its head, while the other side was completely bald. But all its teeth were long, sharp, razor blades.

Then out of the darkness, members of the family appeared, with the mother hurrying ahead. Baba came shambling too, holding the hand of her youngest grandchild tightly to herself. The father was the last to arrive, carrying a hunting rifle. But when he saw the child-creature, he stopped abruptly. He looked uncertainly at the people around him, all wizards. He glanced at the ghost-child once more, who had now fully changed back to human. Then the father's face hardened and then he turned his back on them, limping back the way he had come and disappearing into the dark of the night.

His wife, however, rushed forward as she recognized her deceased son in the ghostly creature. She fell down to the ground just outside Harry's confining Shield, crying the boy's name. Her eldest daughter, rendered speechless by the ghostly sight of her deceased brother, joined her, as did Baba and Senka.

"Don't come too near," Harry said quietly, the other Auror translating for him.

The ghost-child began to cry, not in the piercing scream of the Drekavac, but the wail of a child lost and in pain. "Mama! Mama!" it cried.

"Pavle, what have you done?" Baba spoke, Fr. Lockefeer interpreting the family's words for Harry, but did so quietly.

"It's lonely here, Baba. I want Senka with me. I want my sister. Papa never loved us. He'll never love us."

Senka herself was crying, saying_ Pavle! Pavle! _over and over again.

"Will you hurt your sister then, Pavle? Is that what you want?" Baba said, her voice weak and broken.

"It's lonely here, Baba. I want Senka."

"Then wait for me, child. I will be with you soon. Wait for Baba."

But the Pavle-ghost continued to cry even as Baba continued to reassure him. Everyone was crying in earnest now, with Baba repeating the words: "_Ja c u biti sa vama uskoro_." I will be with you soon.

Finally the cries of the ghost-child subsided into soft whimpers as his family continued to cry his name. Then Baba raised her eyes up to Harry and he immediately understood. He raised his wand and dropped down the outer Shield but kept the ghost-form pinned to the ground. Then Baba leaned forward and scooped a handful of earth with her sunburned hand. The kind, gentle face of Baba was gone, replaced by grim determination. She brought the hand to her lips and whispered an incantation Harry could not hear. Then she straightened up and looked directly at the trapped soul of her grandson. She looked like one who was about to stab her own heart. And she was. And then she spoke. "_Nama ljubav te, moj dete! Ja c u biti sa vama uskoro. SacekaJte baba..."_

Harry did not need Baba's words to be translated for him. He felt he already understood, felt the meaning in her words. The three other women kept sobbing, crying softly and saying Pavle's name over and over again.

Then Baba threw the soil against the ghost-child but instead of falling to the earth, the clumps of dirt clung to the ghost-child's body while Fr. Lockefeer began to say the Prayer for the Dead in Latin as he too began to sprinkle Pavle with Holy Water. The ghost-child writhed and screamed, the air rent with the painful wailing of a hurt child. Harry looked down to the ground, wishing he could plug his ears. He glanced over at the family. Senka had her face buried behind Baba's back, copious tears streaming down her face. The soil began to devour the ghost-child, and Pavle began to slowly fall to the ground, diminishing and disappearing right before their eyes, until finally nothing remained but blackened earth.

For a long time, nobody spoke, nobody moved. There were no sounds except the cries of the women. Harry and the rest felt somewhat shamed with what they had been made witness to, though they hadn't done anything wrong, they still felt somehow guilty. Harry looked at the small family, all huddled together, one in their grief. He looked over at Fr. Lockefeer, who, for the first time since Harry had met him, looked rather grim and stoic. Then Harry glanced at the Handler and the Auror, both standing some distance away from the family. They would stay to ensure the family was safe. Harry turned around and started walking back to the house, his heart heavy with grief.

He reached the house. A couple of its outer lights were switched on, illuminating the surrounding area, a lonely post in the dark. Harry didn't sense the priest following him, but suddenly a voice spoke from his side.

"Harry, can I talk to you for a second?"

Had it been any other time, if anybody tried to sneak up on him like that, he would have reacted with a decisive, highly incapacitating strike. Neither would he fret over whether the lapse was because of his own distraction or the priest's formidable power. It was fine. No harm done.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Father," said Harry, though the truth was he was far from being fine. He was still reeling not only from the tragedy he had just witnessed, but also from the nightmare the Drekavac had forced upon him. He wasn't sure if it was the Drekavac voicing its own heartache or his own subconscious that had forced him to face what he had done to Ginny.

"Look, there is something I need to talk to you about," said Fr. Lockefeer, glancing at Harry's neck where the string of the mokeskin he was wearing was peeking out from underneath his collar. Despite his tiredness, in both heart and mind, Harry was instantly alert.

But the priest waved Harry's unease aside with a dismissive wave of his hand. "We've heard some things. And the pope wanted me to give you something."

Before Harry could say "Wha-?" Fr. Lockefeer had suddenly produced a crozier and waved it before Harry's eyes. A bright light suddenly burst from the staff the priest was holding and Harry was blinded. He sensed the light disappear almost at once, but its afterimage continued to burn in his retina and he couldn't see.

"What did you do, Father?" Harry spoke with studied calmness, but the boiling anger underneath was unmistakeable.

"Relax, just wait a few minutes." said the priest, a smile in his voice.

Slowly, Harry's vision returned. Even as it did, Harry began checking his magic for any changes, but felt nothing.

At last, Harry regained his vision and he looked hard at Fr. Lockefeer, waiting for an explanation, but the priest was unperturbed.

"In case you need it," the priest said simply. Then he extended a hand to Harry which Harry was loath to take, not sure if he had been done ill. But his instinct was telling him that Fr. Lockefeer would never do him harm, and Harry chose to trust that instinct and so, in the end, he took up the priest's offer of handshake, and they bid each other farewell. And then Fr. Lockefeer good-naturedly clapped Harry on the shoulder and with a final nod, Disapparated. Harry stood there for a time, staring at the space where the priest had been standing, rubbing his eyes, feeling for any changes, but he still felt fine. He was about to enter the house when a voice from behind called out to him. It was the Auror. Harry patiently waited by the door for the Auror to draw near.

"Mr. Potter!"

"Is everything alright?"

"As much as it could be," said the Serbian Auror, referring to Baba and her family. "But I just received word from the Ministry. You're wanted there."

"Did they say why?"

"They just said a friend of yours from England has arrived. Another Auror, your friend Mr. Weasley. He said he needed to talk to you immediately."

Harry nodded and wondered what could have made Ron running to Serbia at this time of the night. Then he looked towards the field where they had trapped the Drekavac but the Auror spoke up as if in answer to Harry's thoughts.

"The family won't be coming back anytime soon, Mr. Potter. If you want, I'll say your goodbyes for you."

_Ja c u biti sa vama uskoro._ _I will be with you soon_. Baba's words echoed in Harry's head. He understood now that it was Baba who had protected Senka all this time. And now that protection would soon be gone.

Harry took out his phoenix wand. He glanced back towards the house and mentally Summoned Pavle's framed photo that was sitting on the fireplace mantle. Before long the photo came sailing through the window of the house towards them and Harry easily caught it in one hand. He duplicated the photo frame and handed the copy to the Auror. The original he Transfigured into a puppy, a Kuvasz, a Hungarian breed, but unusually colored black and if viewed from a certain angle, seemed to have Pavle's eyes. A loyal and highly protective working dog, its temperament would be a good match for Senka. He'd also added a few enchantments on the Transfigured animal to help it protect Senka better.

Harry handed the pup over to the Auror."Will you please give this to Senka? Tell her that the life of this pup is tied to hers. As long as she lives, this dog will never die. It will grow old with her and will always protect her. But as a Transfigured object, unfortunately, it won't be able to reproduce."

The Serbian Auror looked gratefully up at Harry. "I understand, Mr. Potter. I'll explain it to the family," he said. He understood now why so many of Harry's men, his people, were devoted to the young man. The Serbian smiled and settled the pup more snugly in one arm. "Thank you, Mr. Potter." He offered his right hand to Harry who shook it. And then the Auror turned around and Harry watched him disappear into the darkness. Then he went back to the house to retrieve his stuff from the attic, remembering all too well that he and Kingsley had an agreement that, unless it was extremely necessary, nobody be sent after him.

Glossary:

"Izvinite. Ne razumem" I'm sorry. I don't understand.

"Nama ljubav te, moj dete! SacekaJte baba..." - We love you, my child. Wait for Baba.


	8. Chapter 8

Harry Potter and the Necklace of Menat

Chapter 08

When Harry arrived at Serbia's Ministry of Magic, he was immediately led into a private office. There he found Ron waiting, seated on a chair by the window with one leg crossed over his other thigh. Ron's face was turned outside towards the sparkling city of Belgrade; still, the dark of the night reflected back the worried, faraway look on his face. Ron turned his head to the door as Harry entered, uncrossed his legs, and slowly stood up. He started to speak until he noticed the Serbian wizard standing just behind Harry. Harry, taking his friend's lead, thanked the said employee for his assistance and waited until the wizard had gone and closed the door behind him before he turned to Ron and spoke.

"What's wrong? Did something happen to Hermione?" Harry worriedly asked.

Ron shook his head. "No, it's not Hermione." He took a moment before he spoke again. "Look, Harry, can I borrow the Menat necklace? We really need it."

"Of course," Harry said, without even asking why. He pulled out the mokeskin from underneath his clothes, took out the necklace, walked over to Ron and handed the jewelry over to his friend.

"Thanks, mate," Ron said as he very carefully took the necklace from Harry's hand.

Harry watched as Ron put the necklace into his own mokeskin that Harry had given him as a Christmas gift the year they won the war.

"But why do you need it?" Harry said out of curiosity, trying to remember what Ginny said regarding the necklace.

Ron took his time answering. He went back to his chair and sat down. "It's for Ginny," he said, looking up at Harry. "She's pregnant."

"Oh." Harry turned around, pretending to look for a chair so he could sit himself. _Protectress of pregnant women. _Didn't Ginny say that? _Well, there you go, there's one use of the necklace that you'll always remember,_ thought Harry bitterly to himself. "When's the wedding?" Harry found himself saying out loud instead, trying to keep all traces of emotion out of his voice. "He sure is one lucky bloke," he added, his insides writhing with jealousy. For if there was anything Harry knew, he knew at least this: one, no daughter of Molly Weasley would ever get pregnant and remain unmarried for very long, and two, if Ginny indeed were about to get married, then he would surely know of it. Molly Weasley herself would drag his sorry arse from the ends of the earth to make sure that he attended a wedding in the family.

"It's not like that. We don't even know who the father is," Ron said.

Harry turned around and looked closely at his friend. "What do you mean?"

"Are you sure you want to hear this? It happened the time you left home."

"Tell me everything," Harry said as he sat down in front of Ron.

Ron took his time speaking. He leaned back on his own chair and ran a hand through his hair. Then he looked back at Harry, his expression somber. "Remember Soay? The Harpies had a semifinals game that day."

"Of course." Harry said calmly. He was in Auror mode now, waiting to hear all the facts first before he reacted.

"I'm not sure if you knew, they won that game."

"I know. I overheard some people mentioning it in the Ministry corridors."

"So you know that the Harpies had a victory party later that evening?"

Harry nodded. "Didn't I ask you the day before if we already have people covering both the games and the afterparty and you said yes?"

"But you didn't ask me who, remember?" Ron stopped for a pause. "It's Donaghy and Turbitt."

A look of understanding passed between them.

"And nobody knew except you."

"And nobody knew except me," Ron repeated. "Who could? I personally asked them. It's voluntary, after all. Everyone in the department did it more as a favor to me than anything. And then Soay happened and everyone's mind was on the failed operation and not the god-damned party," said Ron angrily.

"But what has it got to do with Ginny's pregnancy?"

"Someone has spiked all the food and drinks. Everything, including the butterbeers, and you know Ginny doesn't take anything alcoholic."

"When you mean spiked – "

"It's Potion X."

"The sex enhancement drug? The one involved in the Wigtown's sex party last hols?"

"The one and the same. Everyone who was there at the party took the potion in. And in quantities a lot more than what was used at the Wigtown's party. And it's got all these side effects. Amnesia…." He seemed to say more but hesitated, looking at Harry.

"But why haven't I heard of it?"

"Well, you've already gone even before the news broke out. George said you were the first he tried contacting when he heard the rumors but he couldn't get through to you. It's only when Ginny got home and told the family that they tried the Tonks' home and that's where they knew you've already left the country. And you'll never read it in the papers either 'coz the Harpies management is keeping a tight lid on it. Quite frankly, you leaving the country was bigger news back then. Besides, even if they had been reported in the papers, I didn't think you followed up with the news from England, either."

Harry leaned back and looked sharply at his friend. "So what are you saying? Are you telling me Ginny's been raped?"

"Well I'm not sure about the rape part. Ginny doesn't remember anything about the party except arriving at the manor itself. As in nada. So we don't know who the father might be. Or if Ginny's been raped at all. Because, really, who raped who? Everyone who attended that party was under the influence of the potion. We've studied some of the memories of those who were at the party - the few we could get, mainly friends of Ginny. And there's very little we've learned."

"What about Ginny's boyfriend - what's his name – what about him?"

"He and Ginny are no longer together. They've broken up weeks before the game. Twat was cheating on her."

"What do you mean?"

"It was Bill and George, actually. They've never really trusted the git. Too polished. Too perfect. So we decided to follow him. Had a girl in every country where he has a store, the lying, cheating bastard! So we sent Ginny some pictures – anonymously, of course – and Ginny dumped him."

"When was this? How come I didn't know anything about it?"

"Well, for one thing, you were kinda busy with that Armenian wizard back then. And frankly, at first, we weren't sure. They were just suspicions. Nothing concrete. Jackass was careful not to do anything stupid while he's in the country. You don't really expect us to drag you from an active case, don't you, just on a mere hunch?"

"Ron, how many times?" Harry said exasperatedly. "Your family comes first."

"Well….At least we don't think it's Philip, you know, Ginny's ex," Ron said, trying to redirect Harry's growing annoyance. "Though we haven't ruled him out completely. He was there though he shouldn't be – he was stricken off the guests' list weeks before when Ginny broke up with him. And they fought. It's in Sylvie's memories. But it's still possible that he could be the father of Ginny's child. "

"How? If they've broken up already?"

"It's the potion, remember? We know Philip took some in. He took a swig of alcohol as he left the party. Pilfered it from a tray by a passing waiter. Didn't look like he knew that the drinks and food had been spiked. Or so it seemed to us. Then Ginny left a couple of hours later. By that time we couldn't find any intact memories from what we've taken except from the guard manning the gates. That's how we learned how Philip was able to crash the party. He lied to the guard. Said that he deliberately told Ginny that he wouldn't be able to make it to the party. Said he'd been planning a surprise. He was gonna ask Ginny to marry him. Of course, the guard didn't know that Philip was lying. Everybody knew him to be Ginny's boyfriend. And then he left alone, he made an excuse that he had a business emergency and that he had to leave but then told the guard that Ginny accepted his proposal. So when Ginny left the party, the guard congratulated her and Ginny blew a gasket. I mean, literally. She was really angry that night. And then she Disapparated – to where we have no idea, if she went to Philip's flat or what, to give him what-for. Next thing she remembers, she's at home at the Burrow the next morning."

"Would she do that? Go to his house?" he said, trying not to remember the events of that morning that he knew followed.

"If Ginny's really angry? She would."

Harry massaged his temple, trying to think. "How about your Mum and Dad?" he said at length.

"Mum and Dad were both asleep the entire night. They don't know when Ginny arrived that night – or morning. Mum said when she went downstairs to prepare breakfast, she looked at the family clock and saw Ginny was already home, so she didn't think there was much to it."

"How about you?"

"You know that I can't really pursue the case actively. You know the rule, no Dark Magic involved, the Auror Department doesn't get involved; the MLES still has the case. It's been months and they still haven't got a suspect."

"That's not what I'm asking."

"I've told you everything we've found so far. The little that we know came from our own investigations. Bill and the others. Even Percy. We're lucky to have gathered a few memories from Ginny's friends. All unofficial, of course. And from Ginny's own memory itself. That's how we know that she couldn't have gotten pregnant at any time except that night. We know that before she left for the party she was still a virgin."

"And how would you know that?"

"Mum."

Harry raised his eyebrows at his friend, waiting.

"It was Bill actually. When he asked Ginny for her memory, he noticed Mum, knew something was up when Mum kept asking if we should just concentrate on Ginny's memory of the party. And there it was, in Ginny's memory. Mum sprinkled the entire kitchen floor with the powdered horn of a unicorn," said Ron. He paused for a while, looking at Harry. "You know all about unicorns, don't you? Same use really. Just a different method. It's an old tradition, actually; quite popular back in the Middle Ages when arranged marriages were the norm. On the wedding ceremony itself, brides were required to step on powdered unicorn horn to prove they're still virgins. If she leaves a footprint, then she's still a virgin. If not, then…"

Harry whistled. "And your mum's been testing Ginny?"

"For quite some time now, Bill reckons."

"Does Ginny know that your mum's been doing that?"

"Are you kidding? That would be third world war, that would."

Harry kept quiet for awhile, trying to take in everything that he had heard. He looked at Ron who was watching him, Harry was careful though not to show any of his true emotions.

"You know, sometimes your mum really scares me," Harry said after a while.

Ron raised an eyebrow and said, "You only realize that now?"

"But why though? Why would your mum do that?"

"Because we're pureblood."

"So?"

"Well you know how the wizarding world's been reacting to me and Hermione?"

"Well, yeah. They treat you as a sideshow, actually."

Ron chose to ignore Harry's comment.

"Well, if Hermione's been a pureblood, they would be singing a different tune entirely."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, people have only been largely tolerant of me and 'Mione because she's Muggle-born. But if she had been a pureblood, people would be vilifying her right and left; she'll be called a harlot woman."

"Really? Harlot? Vilify?"

"Well, that's what Percy's been harping at my ears. He seemed to blame me and Hermione for the 'slow advance of his career'," said Ron, making air quotations as he said the words. "Whatever that's supposed to mean." Ron said, disgruntled at the fact that, in certain respects, his elder brother still hadn't changed.

"I still don't understand," said Harry. "Didn't we just fight a war against all that pureblood nonsense?"

"We did. But this is different. No matter what you say, people look at us different."

When Harry still sat there waiting for further explanation, Ron continued.

"Look, Harry, you know sometimes how mum says some things? You know, words like scarlet woman and all that? It's because purebloods tend to be that way. They're a bit old-fashioned."

"Still, why would your mother do that to Ginny? As far as I know, Ginny never gave her a reason to doubt her behavior."

"Honest? Bill reckons mum's been worrying about Ginny being influenced by me and Hermione. It could ruin Ginny's reputation."

"And yet you do it to Hermione," Harry said reproachfully.

"I'm not doing it to her!" said Ron indignantly. "If you've only been there, you'd know that most of the time, it was Hermione that, you know..." Ron trailed off, becoming sheepish yet smug at the same time.

"Thanks a lot," said Harry sarcastically. "Now, there's an image I'd like to keep in my head; bad enough that I have to read about your sex life in the papers."

Ron mumbled something incoherent.

"Still, why would anyone care?" said Harry. "It's 2004."

Ron sighed. "Mum would."

The two became quiet, each absorbed in his own thoughts. Despite the circumstances, hope bloomed in Harry's heart. All he could really think about was that Ginny was not in love with another man. He didn't care about the fact that she was pregnant with another man's child . _If Ginny wants to keep the baby, then I will love it as if it were my own,_ Harry vowed to himself .

Yet something niggled at his mind.

"But why does Ginny need the necklace?" he said after a while.

"Because she's dying."

Harry felt as if ice shards had suddenly formed in his insides. Blood was pounding in his ears and he thought he might not have heard correctly.

"What did you say?" he said.

"It's the potion," said Ron, rubbing down his face with his huge hand and so did not note the look on Harry's face. "It causes internal bleeding. Her own magic has gone haywire, trying to push the toxins out of her body. She can't even do magic 'coz she's liable to blow things up." Ron sat back and looked at Harry. "Her Healers don't think Ginny'd be able to survive the pregnancy, unless we do something soon. They offered to place her under magical stasis, but they aren't even sure if they can wake Ginny up from that. The Menat necklace is the only thing we can think of that could save her now."

"Ron, this is serious. You should have told me sooner," Harry said, keeping his voice low and even despite the riot of emotions running through him.

"I know. I know. I've already beaten myself up over what has happened to her. Hermione's parents are beginning to think that we're fighting 'coz Mione's been sleeping over at their house more often these days. But the truth is, I've been sleeping over at the Burrow a lot these days." He turned an anguished face to Harry. "I'm so afraid that she could go at anytime, that when I wake up Ginny would be dead. Mum's been crying non-stop, but she doesn't let Ginny see her —"

Harry felt his heart clamp. Thankfully, Ron continued to speak and he wasn't required to say anything.

"— Nor does Ginny know that I've been staying more and more at the Burrow these days. She hates us, you know. Me and Hermione. And I don't blame her. If we hadn't gone away that weekend then none of this would have happened."

"No, you can't be sure of that," Harry said automatically though his heart was still heavy with grief.

"I don't know what to do anymore. It's hard, just watching Ginny. She's changed. You should have seen her Harry. It's almost like she's given up. And who can blame her? She was not even given time to process what happened at the party, and then - _bam_! - she's pregnant and most likely to die," Ron said. "Even Charlie went home. He wanted to stay and find work in England. But Ginny said no. Anyway, the only real place in England that Charlie could work with dragons is at Gringotts Bank, and you know what they do with their dragons. I never told him, 'bout how the goblins treat their dragons. And I don't think Bill has, either. Charlie would surely have a conniption if he ever knew."

"Still, why didn't I hear any of this?" Harry demanded, starting to get angry, with himself, at the situation, at Ron — he wasn't sure anymore.

"Well, you didn't want to hear any news from home, remember? Every time me and Hermione would start talking about anyone in the family, you get this look on your face. Knew you were having problems; didn't want to burden you with anymore. Hermione thought we'd wait until you've gotten whatever was bothering you out of your system."

Harry looked his friend directly in the eye. "Ron, you should know by now what my priorities are. You still should have informed me. I would never have left home if I knew what was happening. Your family comes first," said Harry, and he meant it, thinking of Ginny.

"Sorry, mate," Ron said, though the words were automatic.

"It's me who should be sorry. I should never have left." Harry kept quiet for a time, trying to think through his grief, mulling the things he just heard. He'd heard of Potion X, but knew it more as a sex enhancement drug. He tried to remember of any reports of it causing death. But what drug or potion was not fatal, if taken in large amounts?

Harry looked out the window, guilt now weighing heavily on his mind, his heart. All those times when he was wallowing in self-pity, Ginny's life had been in danger. One horrific thought suddenly dawned upon him. The luminous glow he'd seen on Ginny's face, it could very well not have been sexual afterglow, after all. For how many hours had since passed since Ginny had the encounter? It could have been the potion, working its way through her system, and her own body reacting to it, her blood vessels starting to dilate in an effort to expel the toxins in her body. While he was thinking the worst, the potion was already starting to slowly kill Ginny.

Ron must have noticed the look on Harry's face because he started speaking in a placating tone.

"Look, Harry, I know you think you're somehow responsible. You could not have known. And we couldn't tell you. The thing is, Hermione believes that Ginny hasn't really gotten over you. Not ever. Since, you know, first time she saw you at the Burrow. Heck, maybe even the first time she saw you at King's Cross, remember? Hermione thinks that deep down, Ginny's always been waiting for you."

Harry turned his face towards Ron, wrenched from his spiraling guilt trip.

"All those boyfriends and Ginny remains a virgin. Pureblood or not, she's been saving herself for you, mate, that's what we think. And now Ginny finds herself pregnant and she doesn't even know who the father is. Ginny's always had this thing for you. She's always been shy when it comes to you. So, Hermione didn't think that Ginny would want you to know about her condition. It's not your fault."

"You don't understand —" Harry began.

"Look, I'm not telling you this 'coz I'm thinking I can call on our friendship and expect you to return her feelings," Ron cut him off, thinking Harry was going to go on another one of his guilt-trips. "I can't make you love my sister just because I'm your best mate."

"But I do care about her, Ron," Harry said earnestly.

"I know you do," Ron said, misreading Harry's words. "I remember how you got when George was attacked at Diagon Alley. Remember, a few months after the war? You were very angry then. And then you started sleeping over at George's flat. Don't think I didn't know what you were doing at that time. I know you love my family. We all know that. But this thing that happened to Ginny, it wasn't your fault at all. So don't go start blaming yourself, okay?"

"Still, the moment there's been a problem, you should have told me."

"I'm sorry."

But the burden was upon Harry now. His blood ran cold at the thought that at any time in the past three months he could have lost Ginny. Guilt now hung heavy on his head at the realization of what he had done to her. He didn't realize that there at the Burrow, Ginny was already dying. Even as they were speaking, the poison was already streaming through her body, had already begun its slow killing of her. And he walked out on her! How could he even begin to forgive himself for what he did?

He did not know if there was anything he could do to remove the poisonous substances in her body but he would move heaven and earth to try and help her. He would do anything, everything in his power to save her life. That was the most important thing, the only thing to do now.

Harry then looked back at Ron. His friend still seemed worried but not as worried-looking as when Harry entered the room. Harry stood up. "Let's go," he said to Ron.

Ron stood up as well, but then hesitated and shifted nervously on his feet.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"Uhm, well, it's about Kingsley." Harry had to wait a few more seconds before Ron spoke up again. "Well, you know how it's no secret in the Ministry that you couldn't really have left the country if Kingsley had not okayed it?"

"Yeah? So?"

"Well, someone's been hexing Kingsley ever since you left. Or maybe perhaps more than one."

"What do you mean? He's alright isn't he?"

"Yeah, he's okay. Healthwise." Ron paused for another heartbeat.

"Ron, why don't you just come right out and say it," Harry said impatiently.

"Well, the week after you left, someone gave Kingsley halitosis so bad that he spoke once inside the lift and we couldn't use it for three days."

"You're kidding."

"No, I swear. Then the week after that someone gave him stub horns on his forehead. And then after that, he grew a tail. This week, he's got a huge nose with pores the size of Antarctica. Well, you get the picture."

"Wait a minute. Do you mean to tell me this has been happening every week since I left?" Harry said, and then remembered how sometimes Kingsley insisted on communicating by Patronus only.

"Every week," said Ron.

"But Kingsley never told me." Harry then turned an accusatory glare at Ron. "Nor you."

"We wouldn't. Kingsley asked us not to. He didn't want you to come home on his account. He wanted you to come home when you're ready. Kingsley said that if you came home out of sense of duty whatever was bothering you would only get worse in the end."

"Did they find out who was doing it?"

"No. Frankly, a lot of people actually think it's Hermione."

"Well? Did she?"

"I rightly don't know. But, you know, even if 'Mione did it, you wouldn't hear it from me now, would you?"

Harry did not answer. In the three short months since he left England, so many things had happened. So many problems had arisen, problems he felt he was personally responsible for, that he now had to deal with. Yes, it was long past the time when he should've come home...

He did not realize that he had spoken the last part aloud for then Ron replied, "Honestly, Harry? I don't think that you should have even left home in the first place."

~o~

Harry Portkeyed them immediately back to England, but upon arriving in London, they went their separate ways. Ron went directly to the Burrow to give Ginny the Menat necklace while Harry headed straight to the Ministry to report in. No matter how much he wanted to be the one to give the necklace to her (and even put it on her himself) he did not know how she would react to his presence after leaving her in a lurch the last time they met. In her current condition, he didn't want to risk upsetting her. He wanted to give the Menat necklace time for its protective magic to take effect before he showed up at the Burrow. Duty dictated as well that he report first to the Ministry before he even went home.

It was still the small hours, so he kipped in his office for a while, trying to get a few shut eye. But his mind was too preoccupied.

He wasn't even sure how Ginny accounted for his actions that day and he quailed inside should she guess at the truth. He had no right to expect anything, anything of her at all, given that he had not offered her anything in the first place either – nothing by word or by action had he shown her he loved her. He did not even know how he could possibly make up for his actions and thoughts that day. So, if there was any truth at all to what Ron had said, that if, by some miracle, Ginny still held a torch for him, then he resolved to spend the rest of his life trying to make up for what he did to Ginny. He still beat himself up at the thought that all those times he could have lost her and for what? For some irrational, baseless jealousy that could never be justified and was completely unforgiveable.

Fatigue eventually claimed him and when he awoke, his office window was already bright with the coming of daylight. He cleaned himself up in the Department's washroom then headed straight to Kingsley's office.

As soon as Amelia saw him approach, she stood up and met him halfway, hugging him with relief. When they broke up, Harry smiled apologetically at her. She then conducted him into Kingsley's office with a simple knock at the door to announce his arrival.

Kingsley sat poring over some parchments, a white cloth draped across his broad shoulders. Contrary to Ron's words, the Minister no longer had a bulbous nose pockmarked with humongous pores. Instead, he now had large bat ears with copious yellowish discharges oozing out from each ear which the house-elf standing beside him was dutifully Vanishing as they appeared.

Harry winced as Kingsley looked up and before he'd even reached the desk, he'd already waved his wand. Kingsley's ears changed back to normal, the wax and the cloth disappeared, restoring Kingsley's appearance back to his old self. The house-elf looked up to Harry gratefully. Kingsley then turned to the house-elf and said kindly, "Thank you, Mobly, that will be all." The house-elf bowed, murmured words Harry could not hear and then Disapparated.

"I'm sorry," Harry blurted as he sat down in front of Kingsley's desk.

"It wasn't your fault. Stop blaming yourself," Kingsley said. He was acting as if he was unperturbed by the entire ordeal.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know," Harry insisted then turned an accusing glare back at the Minister. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"About what?"

"About everything."

"I didn't want you to come home on my account. And as to what happened to Ms. Weasley, it was not something I feel I had a right to divulge to you or anyone. Even now, not very many in the wizarding world know of her condition."

"I would have come home."

"I know you would. And that was what I was afraid of. I've seen your face that day, Harry. I will never be the one to tell you to come home if you're not ready to."

"I would never have left if I knew what had happened."

Kingsley shrugged. "Harry, only you know what buttons would push you. Lately, I have gotten the impression that you've been keeping so many secrets that you've become as bad as Dumbledore."

Harry did not reply.

"For how long are you staying?" Kingsley said after a while.

"I'll never leave again. Not unless I have to, for a job," Harry added.

"Are you sure?" And when Harry simply nodded, Kingsley heaved a sigh of relief.

But then Harry wrinkled his brows, carefully looking at Kingsley. He thought he saw something flash in Kingsley's body. He narrowed his eyes, focusing his sight and then, numerous, small, slender shafts of amber-colored light started to appear all over the Minister's body. Though quite a few were situated in Kingsley's upper body, it looked like there were more in his lower extremities. Harry could only compare the lights to penne pasta except these were translucent.

"What is it Harry?" Kingsley asked but Harry only shook his head.

Harry then took out his wand, leaned over the desk, and waved his wand over Kingsley's chest, concentrating on one tubular light just underneath Kingsley's right flank. Harry drew the amber light as he would draw a memory, with one end of the penne light clinging stickily on to Harry's wand until finally it left Kingsley's body.

"Is that what I think it is?" Kingsley said.

"I think so. They're rather numerous."

"The hexes?"

"Yes."

Kingsley whistled.

Then Harry brought the trail of now visible amber light closer to his face but could neither see nor feel any distinguishing magic. Then he waved his wand with the yellowish light still sticking to it over his left hand and immediately the skin on the back of his hand twisted into painful, corded lumps. Harry studied his skin carefully, feeling for any dark magic; finding none, he shook his hand and immediately his skin returned back to its former smooth, unblemished appearance.

"That was a bit painful. I would hate for you to suffer through that," Harry said.

"I don't even know how you could have possibly spotted it when Healers and Unspeakables could not even find anything."

Harry did not reply but remembered the priest waving his crosier before him and the warm sensation in his eyes he now only realized he felt at that time - so angry was he that he did not even notice it. Was this then the gift?

"Would you please stand up?" Harry said instead and Kingsley complied.

Harry stood up as well and walked around the desk to carefully look at Kingsley. He counted no less than twenty-eight such penne hexes, one even embedded in the Minister's right calf. With his wand, Harry removed the hexes one by one, which took quite a long time as the hexes seemed to refuse to leave Kingsley's body, the lights stubbornly sticky.

When finally the last of the hexes had been removed, Kingsley gratefully hugged Harry, good-naturedly ignoring another of Harry's apologies. Then they both sat back down to their respective chairs.

Harry wasted no time broaching the topics he wanted to discuss. Kingsley wasn't surprised that Harry already knew most of the facts of the Harpies' case. In fact, he expected nothing less. He was only surprised that Harry had learned of it a few hours before. He made no mention of it though, not wanting the reason for Harry's leaving to cloud their discussion.

"What I don't understand was the fact that the Wigtown Wanderers used the potion and nothing happened back then. There was no issue, no case."

"But that was voluntary and the potion distributed was in limited amounts."

"Still, the MLE Department should have made background investigations. For one thing, they should have checked who supplied the potions in the Wanderers' party. Perhaps there is some connection."

"They tried. But in the case of the Wanderers' party, no crime was committed. No one came forward to file any complaints. And they couldn't be forced to divulge information unless they willingly offer it."

Harry drew a sigh, the muscles in his face tightening from sheer annoyance. Finally he stared Kingsley straight in the eye.

"You know I've never asked you for a favor…" Harry began but Kingsley cut him off.

"I know what you're going to ask, Harry. You don't have to say it. Knew it the moment you entered the room," Kingsley said. "And I would have said 'it's about time' except my only concern is if you can keep your objectivity. A Weasley is involved after all, especially one who is dearest to Molly. That's why I let the case lie with the MLE Department for a while. I didn't think your good friend Ron would be able to keep his nose out of the investigation and you're the only one who can keep him in line. I don't have to tell you that I am only too aware that he and his brothers have already made informal investigations about the case on their own."

Harry did not answer. Truth be told, he wasn't sure if he could give Kingsley any assurances at all. But the elder Auror patiently waited.

After a while Harry spoke.

"I want this, Kingsley," Harry quietly said.

Kingsley sighed audibly.

"Of course you do. And I won't fight you on this one. I trust you, Harry. And frankly, I don't think there's anyone who can tackle this case better than you. Please be careful, though. Take care that your personal feelings about the case do not cloud your judgment."

"It won't. I hope," Harry added honestly.

"Weasley, on the other hand, cannot join you on this one, Harry. If he makes a mistake, if a suspect is found, the case could be bungled up on a mere technicality. And I don't want that to happen."

"Ron knows that. Otherwise he would have insisted right from the start to work on the case."

Kingsley nodded.

"And the Rosier case?"

"It's still pending."

"I assume the case is still mine?"

"Nobody wanted to touch it after you left. Who knows what nasty surprises Galina has left? Just don't overdo it Harry. The Galina case is no longer a priority. I don't want you overworking yourself so soon after you've just returned to the country."

After the meeting was over Harry went directly home to Grimmauld where Hermione promptly tried to strangle him as she sobbed into the crook of his neck while Kreacher held on tightly to his jeans as he kept wiping the dirt off Harry's rubber shoes with the same dirty rag he was wiping his running nose with, Harry assuring them both that he was staying for good. After that, Hermione left and Flooed to the Burrow for the family dinner (which now occurred almost every night ever since the day after the Harpies' party). Harry promised that he would follow soon after taking care of some things first.

Harry showered and dressed first and then sent Kreacher over to the Tonks's home to bring Teddy and Andromeda some souvenirs and gifts he had bought especially for them. They were mostly toys for Teddy who demanded the gifts as his rightful due.

He had purposefully dallied. He was trying to give Ginny time to adjust to the idea that he was coming over, giving her the opportunity to leave the Burrow if she didn't want to see him. He knew as a pregnant witch, Ginny couldn't Apparate or Portkey out of the Burrow, and even taking the Floo was not advisable, especially in Ginny's case. So Harry was giving her ample time to leave. Honestly, he was deathly afraid of how his presence might affect her. So he wanted to make sure that the magic of the necklace had already taken hold before he showed his face to her. He didn't know how she felt about him now after his boorish behavior to her last time.

But at the same time, he was quite anxious to see her, to make sure that she was alright. And so with one last deep sigh he finally steeled himself and Apparated to the Burrow, doing it right from inside his own room.

When he arrived at the Apparation point at the Burrow, he was immediately greeted by warm laughter coming from inside the house. Despite his anxiety, Harry smiled. There was assurance in that laughter, and he realized how much he missed the person behind each laugh which he could easily identify. As usual, he walked round the yard towards the backdoor of the Burrow. He had seldom arrived at the beloved house and came in by way of the front door. He would only do so when he was with a colleague and needed to observe the formalities. Also, Ginny's bedroom window was facing the backyard and Harry savored the opportunity to look up to her room if only to see if she was home. And he did, and saw the light was on.

Harry barely stood a second behind the back screen door when Mrs. Weasley screamed. "Harry!"

Then suddenly the door was pushed open, Harry having to step back to allow space for the door opening, and he was immediately pulled inside by the strong arms of Mrs. Weasley.

"Harry!" Mrs. Weasley said, hugging Harry round his waist. He was a good head (and then some) taller than she was now and Harry had to lean over to reciprocate her hug just as warmly.

"I'm sorry for leaving in such a hurry the last time that I wasn't able to say goodbye."

"It's okay! The important thing is you're back now." Mrs. Weasley said. She pulled back and looked up at him, studying him. "You've grown thin," she said but Harry merely smiled.

Harry looked around. Only the Weasley WAGS (as they had been dubbed in the papers) were there: Fleur, Audrey and Hermione, who sat on the table smiling serenely at him. Angie, he had to assume, was with little Freddie who was liable to get involved in some kind of mischief if you leave him alone long enough. Ginny must be upstairs in her room.

When he had made the rounds of greeting, Harry asked, "Where's Ginny?" thankful to have a legitimate reason to ask.

"Oh, she's in her room."

"Oh." Harry tried to hide his disappointment. He wanted to ask more, but he sensed that Mrs. Weasley and the others were hesitant about talking about Ginny. So he kept his mouth shut. _Looks like it would be a long uphill climb back to her graces, then, _he thought.

Then the kitchen door opened and the men came filing in from the living room. They must have heard his voice and came to greet him. There was much hugging and back-slapping around, even George, who forgot his resentment, embracing Harry as he would a long-lost brother.

Everyone seemed to be in a happy, light-hearted mood with no sign of the problem that worried the family in the last three months. Thereafter, while the women worked on preparing supper in the kitchen the men monopolized Harry's time in the sitting room, demanding that Harry tell them some of his exploits in the last three months. From time to time, a Weasley grandchild would stray into the room and kiss Harry, or sit on his lap, but eventually would get bored with the lack of activity and leave the room once again. Nobody asked why Harry left in the first place nor was there any mention of Ginny or her situation. Everyone, it seemed, was determined to sweep the unpleasant events of the recent past under a rug. And Harry couldn't blame them; they had precious few reasons to laugh in the last three months.

An hour after he arrived, Harry stood up and turned to Mr. Weasley.

"Uhm, Mr. Weasley, is it okay if I plant a tree in your back garden? It's just I was given a seed as a gift when I was abroad."

"Sure. What kind of tree is it?" Mr. Weasley said placidly.

"An oak."

"Harry, don't tell me you're turning into a gardener now? What are you, Neville?" George quipped. Harry only smiled at George but with an expression that clearly said "Up yours!" George cackled with glee.

So Harry went out to the back garden, George, Ron and Hermione accompanying him, making suggestions as Harry pretended to hunt for the "best" spot to plant the tree in. The truth was, Harry had already chosen the right spot months before when he was first given the seed. It was directly in the line of sight of Ginny's room.

Harry worked in the dark. There was just enough light coming from the kitchen for him to work. Here and there, a few stars broke through the haze so that stars twinkled over their heads.

He worked quickly, too, planting the seed. Finally he stood up and joined his friends a few paces back. But scarcely had he moved when delicate tendrils began to break the earth where he'd planted, shooting up into the air as if the plant was in a hurry to grow.

Harry was just as surprised as the others to know that the seed was magical. It was like watching one of those time motion videos of plant growth Harry used to see on the telly, except they were seeing it in real time. Then George, once again in all his wisdom, put in his two cents' worth:

"My! My! Harry!" George said, "If that's any indication of how fast you rise into action, no wonder the ladies are all lining up to have a piece of you!" He turned to Harry. "Oh Harry," he said in a high-pitched, breathless voice, the back of one hand against his forehead, the other fanning himself, "how quickly and mightily you spruuuung!"

Hermione, regaining her lost modesty of their Hogwarts days, reddened and turned to walk back up to the house. She simply could not tolerate suggestive images of a sexual Harry. Ron, meanwhile, reached out a long arm across Harry's back and whacked George upside the back of his head.

"Oi! I'm a married man now!" George cried indignantly. "Hit me again and I'll complain to Angie."

Thus, laughing and joking, the three walked back to the house, with Harry draping an arm over George's shoulder. The dinner table had already been laid out with the evening's meal and almost everyone was already seated at the table. Harry took his usual seat beside Ron. But nobody made a move to start eating. Everyone was waiting for Ginny, who was still nowhere to be found, and Mrs. Weasley, who apparently had gone upstairs to fetch her. A moment later, Mrs. Weasley came through the connecting door from the inner rooms, sans her daughter.

"I'm sorry. Ginny won't be coming down to join us. We'll just have to go ahead and eat without her," she said, refusing to look at Harry.

"Is she all right?" Harry asked.

"Oh, yes," said Mrs. Weasley, busying herself with a dish, "She just isn't feeling well enough," she added, still not looking at Harry. But a close look at Mrs. Weasley's face told Harry that it wasn't entirely the truth. If Ginny really hadn't been feeling well, then Mrs. Weasley would surely be in a panic. Instead, her face was a mask of composure.

"Isn't she hungry? Shouldn't she eat?" Harry persisted.

"I've already left some food upstairs," she said.

"What about – - Shouldn't anyone make sure she's alright?" Harry persisted. He wanted so much to see Ginny's face.

"Victoire's with Ginny," Bill said mildly. "She's appointed herself as Ginny's personal bodyguard. She'd scream if Ginny so much as needed an extra glass of water."

"Oi, that kid of yours sure could scream," said Ron, waving the soup ladle he was holding.

"Yeah, that midget's a terror," George quipped. "Just the other day I was just hugging Ginny goodbye and she said to me, 'Don't jiggle Tante Ginny!' She's almost as bad as her mother," he added, with a sly look at Fleur's direction. Mr. Weasley and the rest chuckled into their soup.

"What can I do? Victoire loves 'er aunt," said Fleur as she placed large portions of chopped raw liver on Bill's plate.

_She's not the only one, _Harry thought to himself. All round the table there was an air of quiet contentment when all the while Harry's mind was on Ginny upstairs, wondering what she was doing and thinking now.

~o~

Ginny stewed in her bedroom, brushing her hair furiously as she sat in front of her dresser. Vaguely she thought that if she didn't stop, she'd be bald by midnight. But she didn't care. Her thoughts were thoroughly consumed by the new arrival who, judging by the happy and excited voices of her family drifting from the floors below, could only be Harry.

She was downstairs when Ron arrived with the Menat necklace. She kept silent when he tried to explain to her what the necklace was all about, how it could help her. Ha! As if she didn't already know! But it was his news that Harry came home with him that glued her tongue to the roof of her mouth. She was so taken aback that she forgot she was angry with Ron and Hermione, and when Hermione arrived after lunch, Ginny allowed Hermione's tentative kiss on her cheek. What Hermione thought of her behavior, Ginny didn't care. It was not as if her feelings for Harry was any secret in the family.

Then, as one by one the other members of her family arrived, an air of expectant excitement seemed to rise in the Burrow, something they all hadn't felt for quite a long time. Everyone started joking and laughing and generally _being happy ._

But as the day wound to its end and her mum started preparing dinner and still no Harry had arrived, Ginny became increasingly annoyed. She didn't care that Ron had already mentioned soon as he arrived that Harry would be delayed because he still had to drop by at the Ministry and report to Kingsley. Didn't Harry even care that she could have died at any time in the last three months? Why was he not hurrying to her side? And so, Ginny marched up to her room, her emotions as red as her hair.

_Why is he coming now?_ Ginny wondered, smoke coming out of her ears. In the past, Harry seldom attended the Sunday family dinner. And now barely a day after arriving in the country, he was here? What did it mean? Did he come to gloat? No, Harry would never do that. He was too much of a gentleman. But it was too much for her to hope that he came on her account.

Once again, the enigma Harry Potter troubled her mind. Did he not really know how his presence affected her? Was Harry really not aware of her feelings for him? Ginny rather thought everyone in her family did.

_'Oooh, yes. Harry would know that from the parade of boyfriends you've been having since your fourth year,' _a bitchy voice yakked in her head.

'_Oh, shut up!' _Ginny cried back, _'I only did it to protect myself from seeing Harry with other girls. First Cho Chang, and then, after the war, Cho Chang. Again_! And just when she vowed to have Harry at all costs.

It was pathetic, crude and unsophisticated, the way she tried to entice Harry that time. It was the day Ron and Hermione left for Australia. She'd heard her mum asking Harry for his dirty clothes. So Ginny waited in her room, wearing a mini-skirt - the only one she owned at that time - and pretended to do her toenails, propping a foot against a chair. She kept her door half-open, and when Harry passed by she greeted him with all the love she felt for him. And what did the Dumb Hero of Britain do? Twat didn't do anything but politely smile back at her. The rest of that day, Harry avoided her like the dragon pox. He even refused to look at her. Worse, mum must have sensed what she, Ginny, had been up to and kept her precious, virgin, sixteen-year old daughter to her side all throughout that day. The next day, Harry hightailed it off to Grimmauld Place and the next time Ginny saw him, it was in the papers in September, when she and Hermione were already back in Hogwarts, with no less than that hosepipe Cho Chang! The two of them, cozily sitting together, sharing a meal at the Ministry canteen. _She deserves the cheapness_, Ginny remembered thinking savagely at that time. Ginny was so broken-hearted that she went out with a Ravenclaw classmate of hers, one who'd been hanging at her elbow since fifth year.

She placed the brush down and looked at her reflection, noticing the Menat necklace that now adorned her neck. Only the turquoise string could be seen, the golden plate hidden under the Sabrina collar, but she knew Bill would recognize it instantly for what it was the moment he saw it, but Ginny was not worried. Encumbrance or not, Bill could never be forced to notify Gringotts and give up the only thing that was saving his sister's life.

She caressed the necklace, part of her wishing that Harry was the one who had put the necklace on her, instead of mum. Yet another part of her was still angry at him for the way he left her the last time he came to the Burrow. Up till now, she still hadn't told anyone that she had seen Harry that day. It was too personal, too painful a memory.

She sighed. She was so happy then, just being in the room with him. He was the only one who could ever do that to her, be comforted by his mere presence alone. A couple of days after the Battle, Hermione discovered that Harry simply didn't have the clothes to wear for the numerous funerals that they had to attend in the days following. In fact, Harry was so lacking in the basic necessities that Hermione decided to shop for him - the money coming from Harry's own Gringotts account that Bill volunteered to convert to Muggle money. Soon as Ginny learned of the plan, she asked her mum if she could come along. At that time, her mum absolutely refused to let Ginny out of her sight. But Ginny pled with such quiet desperation that her mum finally relented, but not without Bill and Charlie in tow. At the Muggle store, however, Hermione let Ginny shop for all of Harry's personal needs, letting her choose which items to buy, even his boxer shorts and briefs, Hermione standing a few feet away from Ginny and only coming forward if Ginny needed help, like which size to choose, for example. Ginny didn't care how pathetic she acted that day. It was a simple act and yet it was the only thing that could have numbed the pain of losing Fred, Tonks, Remus, and all the other friends and acquaintances she knew who had lost their lives in the Battle. Her love for Harry simply surpassed all things.

And now this thing that happened to her. She looked down her belly. At three months, she was still not showing. She wasn't even sure how she felt about the baby growing inside her. Her freedom to decide on the matter had been completely taken away from her. The freedom when to give herself fully to a man. The freedom to decide whether to keep the baby or not. She simply had no choice.

How could she prove to Harry now that it had always been him? That she had been saving herself for him? She had no proof. None at all. Sure she'd had a procession of boyfriends, but none of them could even get to second base. Just as Harry, so far as she knew, had not given his heart to anybody, she had not given her body to any man. At least not knowingly.

Compared to some of her friends, she knew hers was an old-fashioned attitude. But she grew up old-fashioned. Or perhaps it was her mum who made sure that she did. After all, Ginny was the only girl to be born after a long line of Weasley sons. But she had been loving Harry for so long, there was simply no other man for her. That choice too had been taken from her.

She didn't know how she was going to react when they finally see each other. And she certainly didn't want an audience should her heart break if she saw nothing but care and concern on Harry's face, as he would show for a family friend. After everything she had gone through the last couple of months, she simply could not handle any more disappointments and heartaches.

And now he was finally here, back again in the country. A part of her was happy, anxious, to see him once again, her heart leaping at the news Ron had brought with him. But there was also a part of her that wanted nothing more than to wallop him for the way he left her the last time they saw each other. How was he ever going to explain that, she wondered?

Still, a third part of her didn't want to see him at all. Or if she were truthful to herself, she didn't want to be seen by him. She looked at her reflection again in the mirror, at the hematoma in her right eye that appeared just a couple of days ago. It was yellowish and ugly. She so desperately wanted to look her best when she and Harry met again. That was not gonna happen now. Despite the French Muggle dress Bill and Fleur had given her on her last birthday that she now thought to wear, the fact of the matter was, she just looked butt-ugly with that super black-eye on her face.

She tried covering her face with powder but the bruise remained unmistakable. Next thing she knew she looked like some medieval painting with her face caked up with powder. She looked like a geisha! _Oh this is hopeless! _Ginny threw the make-up away and scowled at her reflection in the mirror. Not only was she meeting Harry for the first time in three months, but she was going to meet him looking like battered fruit. Even if she wanted to see him, just to see his face - which Ginny swore to herself was not the case, not at all - she didn't want him to see her in such a state!

And so when Audrey came up to tell her Harry was here, Ginny said that she wouldn't be joining dinner. A procession of her family thereafter came to her room - except for Ron and George who apparently were with Harry - trying to convince her to come down. If any of them had noticed how Ginny was dressed (she usually wore casual clothes to the family dinner and over the last three months, frequently a frumpy, loose-fitting housedress) they never said anything about it.

Finally, Bill came up and sat beside her on the bed with their backs to the headboard, with her pretending to read a book. He draped an arm over her shoulder. He said nothing at first. Suddenly she felt very tired and she leaned her head on his shoulder. Outside, they could hear voices and laughter coming from the back garden.

Finally, Bill spoke into the silence.

"He came as soon as he heard, you know," he said quietly.

"Maybe he came for Kingsley."

"Perhaps," Bill said. "But he's here now."

Ginny did not answer.

Bill sighed heavily then turned sideways to face her. He lifted her chin up and watched her face: his beautiful little sister, with a massive bruise in her right eye. He noticed that there had been fresh bleeding into the whites of her eyes but his face did not betray the grief he felt upon seeing it. Instead, Bill gently wiped the area around her eyes as if he wanted to magic the bruise away. But Ginny knew that he was just as afraid as the rest of her family to cause any more harm. They did not speak words, there was no need to. Ginny knew that Bill would guess at exactly what she was feeling, just how petty her reason was for not coming down to dinner, but she also knew that he wouldn't say a word. In the end, he brushed her hair back and lightly kissed her on the forehead. Then he stood up. He turned round the room, making sure Ginny had everything she needed and that she was comfortable.

"Mum will be by soon." He said it as a gentle warning. Then he leaned over and brushed his lips over her hair and left the room.

A moment later, her mum came up and tried to convince her anew to come down. But Ginny was decided. Her mum sighed and looked sadly at Ginny, wishing she had it in her power to give everything her daughter needed, including Harry's love. In the end, she waved her wand, and food appeared on Ginny's desk. She kissed Ginny lovingly on the head as Bill and the others had done and left the room as well. Almost immediately, Victoire peeked her head in, her hair as silvery blond as Fleur's, and waddled to the side of the bed. She clambered up the bed and sat beside Ginny, and pretended to also read the book in Ginny's hand, though she hardly knew her ABC's. And, whenever they spent the night in the same house together, Ginny knew Victoire would stay with her for the rest of the night.


	9. Chapter 9

Harry Potter and the Necklace of Menat

Chapter 09

In the Parts of -, County of London

Ministry of Magic

**To** Ms. Ginevra Molly Weasley

**Of** The Burrow, Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon

You are hereby summoned to appear before the Auror Fact-Finding Team , sitting at the Rhisierdyn Hall in Holyhead, Anglesey, Wales in the Parts and County aforesaid on Friday, the 25th day of September instant, at the hour of Ten-thirty in the forenoon, to

_give evidence/testimony to a recent case of poisoning at the Harpies victory party last 27th of June, year 2004 held at Trentabank Hall in Macclesfield Forest, Cheshire, UK._

THIS SUMMONS WAS ISSUED AT THE REQUEST OF Harry James Potter,  lead case investigator

Dated the 22nd day of September Two Thousand Four

_Harry James Potter _

Senior Auror

Ginny stood staring at the letter in her hand. It came just after lunch. It was just her and her mum in the kitchen. Since the day Ron returned with the Menat necklace (or in Ginny's mind, The Day Harry Came Back), the cadence of daily life at the Burrow had reverted back to its former beat before Ginny's pregnancy. The morning after Harry's Return, Ginny, for the first time in three months, came down to breakfast early, fully showered and dressed. Her dad was so happy to find her already at the breakfast table that he immediately came over to her seat and kissed her on the head. And when it was time for him to leave for work, he stopped and turned around as if he had forgotten something. Then his eyes fell upon Ginny, and he smiled once again, his eyes shining. He walked back to her and hugged her once more even though he had already kissed her and her mum goodbye a few moments ago.

Only Bill and Fleur had stayed over for the night while the rest of her brothers went back to their respective homes. Fleur ate hurriedly and excused herself from the table as soon as she was finished as Victoire was sure to scream her lungs out if she woke up alone in Ginny's bedroom. Bill followed soon after. As they ate, her mum moaned to the table how she was sorry that Harry had to leave so soon after dinner. Andromeda had Flooed in asking Harry if he could come over because Teddy had been throwing a fit, wanting to know where Harry was and demanding that his godfather stay the night over. What Ginny's mum didn't say, however, was Ron's comment afterwards that if Ginny really wanted to be with Harry, she was going to have to plan sleeping arrangements for both Teddy and Victoire.

Soon after, Fleur came down the stairs carrying a still sleepy Victoire in her arms followed by Bill, himself carrying Dominique in one arm, while his other hand carried Louise in a baby carrier. Fleur then walked over to Ginny, leaning over so they could kiss each other on the cheek. Then Fleur presented Victoire's back to Ginny who brushed her nose against her niece's back, taking a whiff of the soft, sweet baby smell that Victoire still had. Her niece whinnied her displeasure at being disturbed and Ginny had to smile. Soon Bill's family too left to go back home to Shell Cottage.

So, for the next couple of days, it was just Ginny and her mum left at the Burrow. Because of the Menat necklace, the family no longer needed to maintain its constant vigil of Ginny and had stopped coming home to the Burrow everyday for either lunch or dinner. They were also giving their mum time for a much needed rest. After spending weeks, months, laboring over dishes, trying to feed her entire brood, her mum deserved the rest. In fact, Mrs. Weasley hardly needed to cook anymore as Angie would often send already cooked meals to the Burrow.

It would have been a much welcome breather, except it also meant that Harry had not been by to the Burrow in the last two days. That, and the fact that Harry was busy working on the Harpies' case ever since he arrived, watching the memories Ginny's brothers had collected. She overheard Ron telling her mum so over the Floo.

At first, she was quite apprehensive about Harry watching her memories of that night, afraid he might see her having sex with another man. Bill had told her everything he'd seen of her own memories of the party. And though Bill said that there was no way to reconstruct fully her memory of that night except what she herself could remember, this was Harry they were talking about - it would not be far outside the realm of possibility for Harry to find a way to do so. Ron assured Ginny, however, that hers was the first memory Harry had studied, and could no more glean any more information from it than what her brothers had already seen.

Ginny sighed. If Harry kept at this pace studying the memories, it would be at least a month before he could drop by the Burrow again. Unless he took time out to visit this coming Sunday, three days hence.

Ginny was about to pick up the stack of dirty plates on the table to hand over to her mum when she happened to look outside the window and spotted a fast moving speck in the distance. As it approached, its powerful flight, its size and tufted ears made Ginny recognize it at once as a Eurasian eagle owl — _the owls only Aurors could use_. Not all Aurors and not all the time, but the use of these eagle owls had become so exclusive to them that Muggles thought the species had gone extinct in the UK. Aurors used them for the owls were extremely difficult to waylay and often tore their attackers into pieces. Ron, though, much preferred the use of the Floo or the Patronus – he was simply too lazy. But Harry sometimes used the owls as a treat to deliver gifts to Teddy and Ginny's own nephews and nieces. And now the magnificent bird was flying straight towards her – uhm, well, towards the Burrow, anyway.

"Mum," Ginny called out to Mrs. Weasley in time so that her mum looked up and immediately opened the window to let the bird in. Despite the length of its wingspan, the owl easily cleared the window, tilting its body slightly so it could fit in. It flew directly in front of Ginny and paused half a foot above the air, pinning Ginny with its intense orange eyes as if to say: I'm delivering to you a message. Then it settled lightly on its feet and very formally extended out a leg so Ginny could remove the parchment that had an official Ministry seal on it. For one foolish second, the romantic sap in Ginny wildly hoped that it was a declaration of Harry's love with possibly a hint of a marriage proposal. Instead, she received a witness summons.

Eyes fixed on the parchment, Ginny tried to ignore the twinge of disappointment she felt. She could just feel her mum's anxious eyes boring into her, like the heat of sunlight upon one's back when the sun was burning its fiercest. Mrs. Weasley could barely contain herself and seemed to almost want to snatch the letter from Ginny's hand. Ginny then looked up and, without a word, handed the letter over to her mum. Mrs. Weasley ran her eyes quickly over the parchment, her face breaking into a broad grin as she read.

"Harry sure doesn't waste time, does he?" her mum said after she'd finished, sounding mightily pleased. "It's only been the third day and the ball has started rolling." Then quiet, cold anger seeped into her mother's voice and expression. "Harry will get them, whoever's responsible for this."

But then Mrs. Weasley was reminded that Ginny was there. She glanced at Ginny, whose face and expression said nothing and Mrs. Weasley seemed to regret giving vent to her emotions, betraying to her daughter just how much the entire ordeal had affected her. She usually kept her emotions in check around Ginny, not wanting to cause her daughter any more stress or worry.

Mrs. Weasley read the letter again, schooling her face into a more placid expression, trying to re-inject the happy, hopeful tone in her voice. "Oh, and it's tomorrow too. I should Floo your father, make sure he asks for time off tomorrow so he can drive us to – where is it again?" She looked down to read the parchment anew. "Oh, it's at the Harpies head office. The meeting will be private then. I'm sure Harry has something to do with it," Mrs. Weasley said, sounding genuinely happy this time. It was quite obvious that Harry was taking care of Ginny – ehrm, taking care that the case remained private, that is. Formal Auror interrogations were always held at the Ministry. And there were very few Ministry officials powerful enough to change the rules. "I better tell your father then," she added, hurrying up to the living room. Ginny was left alone with the owl which uncharacteristically stayed behind - mail owls often leave at once as soon as they had delivered their posts.

The eagle owl stood there for a time in front of Ginny, its head tilted forward as if it wanted to be petted. Ginny knew it to be quite a fierce animal; still, she raised her hand and rubbed back the smooth, mottled brown-black feathers on its crown. The owl seemed to enjoy Ginny's touch, as it leaned its great head further into her hand. Ginny briefly wondered if the bird really was Harry in disguise but dismissed the thought immediately - the Burrow had wards against any and all forms of magical concealment, even Invisibility Cloaks. Then the owl straightened and shook its feathers. It gave Ginny one last penetrating look, slightly unnerving her. It then took a step back, spread out its wings, and propelled itself forward. It flapped its powerful wings once, twice, to give itself lift then sailed out of the window, flying as gracefully and majestically as it had come. Ginny watched it fly until it disappeared into a bank of clouds.

Mrs. Weasley came back into the room, her face beaming. "Your dad agreed to take us tomorrow to the Harpies' Office. Isn't it just like Harry to work on this so quickly? Ron said he's been working on the case non-stop since he arrived."

"Mum, may I see the letter again?" Ginny cut in.

"Oh, goodness," Mrs. Weasley cried, sounding flustered, holding both hands to her cheeks. "You would want it, won't you?" She fished for the letter in one of the front pockets of her apron and handed it to Ginny.

Ginny ignored her mum's slip-up. She didn't even bother offering an excuse to her mum. Even though she had read its contents, she rather hoped it contained a secret message for her.

If Ginny could run to the privacy of her own room, she would have. But the protection of the Menat necklace didn't mean she could start acting stupid. Once inside her room, she headed straight towards her desk and sat down.

Overnight, it had become her favourite place in the world, where she could endlessly gaze at Harry's tree. The oak tree had grown so fast that, in a matter of days, it reached fifteen feet in height.

Ginny opened her letter once again and stared at it. The letter was printed, of course, except for Harry's signature. She traced his handwriting, trying to squeeze whatever personal message she could derive from it. But there was none to be had.

She looked up and sat there gazing at Harry's tree, its young limbs dancing, creating its own music with every rustle of its leaves as it swayed to a silent breeze. It seemed her plan to avoid Harry at all costs - at least until after the ugly bruise on her face had disappeared - was derailed after all. The formal summons prevented her from doing so. It would be presumptuous of her to think that he was acting with such haste for her sake alone. But it did not surprise her either. It was something she knew of Harry. He never let an investigation idle, probably because of his experience in the last war when a delay meant a cost of life later on.

Ginny leaned forward, cradling her chin in the palm of her hand. _How is it possible that she knew so much about him when they had hardly talked to each other in the last several_ _years_? Nothing more than a simple nod or hello, and then he would wander off. But Ginny already knew so much about him just from watching him from a distance, dating back to their Hogwarts years. She knew so much about him that she thought she had become quite an expert in reading his moods. And then Sirius died and everything changed. It felt like Harry had built this wall around himself that no one could penetrate unless he permitted it. Still, over the years, she'd learned to pick up bits and pieces about him – most from simply keeping her ears open at the dinner table – George and Ron being her most fertile source of Harry news. And yet, so much about him remained a mystery, so much he kept hidden, Ginny was sure, even to his own best mates.

"_quite like it… quite like you..."_

The words echoed in her head over again. It had become a mantra now, a prayer in the darkest moments of the last three months… a hope. Was it really possible that Harry did like her? So many women wanted him, more beautiful, wealthier, pedigreed. Was it possible that, of all the women he'd ever met, he would choose her?

She sighed. Tomorrow, then. There was no way around it. She shall soon find out whether there was any reason for her to hope or none at all. A look, a word, she would instantly know. If nothing came of it, then she would just have to be content with being his friend. She'd have to learn to settle for that. For if she could have stopped loving him, then she would have done so years and years ago, when her love for Harry proved to be quite hurtful. But she simply could not live without him in her life. It was no longer a matter of choice.

The next morning, Ginny found herself once again standing in front of her mirror, staring at her reflection. The tip of the Menat's plate was just peeking and she tugged her white blouse higher and wrapped her robes tighter around herself to try and cover it up. Nobody was supposed to know that she had it, not with the tug-of-war currently being played out between the Gringotts goblins and the Ministry over it. She swallowed as the thought of the other pregnant Harpies patients crossed her mind and Ginny wished she could share the Menat necklace with them. And then it suddenly dawned upon her that Sylvie was up north lying in a magical chamber, and Ginny blinked away the tears that threatened to fall. She vowed that as soon as this was all over, she would rush to her friend's side, trying not to think of the possibility that there would no longer be a Sylvie waiting for her.

A soft knock came from the door and Ginny was grateful for the interruption.

"Ginny?" Her mum's hesitant voice came in muffled through the closed door.

"Coming." Ginny answered in as strong a voice as she could muster. She gave herself one final look in the mirror then picked up the Muggle shades off her dresser. It could not cover entirely the bruise on her face, but it was better than nothing.

~o~

Rhisierdyn Hall is a converted mansion built in the motte and bailey style. Standing three storeys tall, the red sandstone structure has castellated walls, with an elegant porte-cochère welcoming guests at the northern entrance. From the ground, nothing can be seen of its pitched and slated roofs, hidden behind its battlemented parapets. Here and there, round head windows adorn its façade, shining like brilliant starlights when night has fallen. The interior design, too, is a study in medieval luxurious best with dark wood paneling and mouldings, wrought iron chandeliers, massive fireplaces that can easily accommodate the likes of Hagrid, and other similar decorative features.

After Harry had finished reviewing the memories, he immediately requested a meeting with the owners of the Harpies team and arranged the formal interrogation of their players at a venue the Harpies owners themselves elected. That Harry went out of his way, cutting through red tape and disregarding Ministry rules, just to ensure the privacy of the meeting, impressed the owners more and they agreed to Harry's request and settled on the Harpies head office itself for everyone's convenience (read: the Harpies' convenience). By lunch time, the owls delivering the witness summons were on their way.

Harry had scheduled the interrogations so that Ginny would have plenty enough time to travel from Devon and arrive at the Harpies' office in Wales and be interviewed at the time of the day most convenient for her. Everything had been going well except for a minor irritant. Liede had unfortunately assigned a secretary to record the minutes of the investigation who had the distracting habit of lip-reading the minutes as the Dicta-Quill wrote the words. Little did Harry know that he would need that kind of harmless distraction by the time it came to interview the third witness of the day, the Harpies' blond Beater Glennis.

If Harry hadn't seen her play, one of the most powerful Beaters in the League, Harry would have a hard time imagining her as a professional Quidditch player. For, hard as she played inside the Quidditch field, she played harder outside of it. A part of him was not surprised at her behavior; after all, she had to live with a name like that. Glennis, the Beater. Harry need not remind himself of what the press had made of that. He had already anticipated that he was going to have problems with her in this interview – her reputation simply preceded her like a huge lumbering beast. But Harry needed Glennis's testimony because she was the only witness within Ginny's circle who had also attended the Wigtown Wanderers' harvest/sex party last December. He wanted to find out if there was a link - no matter how tenuous – between the two incidents. Had he a choice he would have avoided interviewing Glennis entirely. Her brand of sexuality was simply too aggressive for his own taste.

For one thing, she was dressed rather inappropriately for the interview. She was wearing a low-cut shirt, even if she wore a jacket on top of it. All throughout the interview she kept trying to draw Harry's eyes to her breasts, tightly squeezing them together and leaning forward to give Harry a good view. Already, Harry had to put up a barrier under the desk to stop further her bare feet from wandering up his legs. It did not help either that the ears of the Auror Ray, whom he had posted by the door, kept twitching in positive merriment at Harry's obvious discomfort.

"So how were you given the Potions?" Harry asked, keeping his eyes on the sheaf of parchments that lay on his crossed legs.

"They made us all line up for the drinks. And you can choose whatever drink you like and I did. Sex of the Witch, you know, like the Muggles' Sex on the Beach, except it's got a drop of Re'em blood in it. Gives you more stamina," Glennis said, eyeing Harry meaningfully and dropping her gaze to her chest.

But Harry pretended he did not notice. "Did they tell you that you were drinking spiked drinks?" he asked instead.

"Of course," Glennis responded huffily. "They called everyone to the dance floor first and announced it to the room. _Who wants Potion X? _Of course I want a hit. I knew about it, of course."

Harry thought it would be rude to answer 'Of course. Why wouldn't you?' out loud, so he kept that thought in his head.

"But do you remember who in particular handed you the drinks?"

"Oh, it's that bloke, Parkin, their Keeper. But it was one of their Chasers, Cundick, who called people forward. I remember, 'coz later I asked him if he ever thought of changing his surname and he just laughed and said 'You're a fine one to talk!' Actually, most of the team was there at the center of the bar, you know when they asked everyone to step up and take a shot. Most everyone took a glass, just a shot," Glennis went on, twirling her hair. She was obviously swinging her legs underneath the table because her entire body was jiggling with the movement. "And boy, did I remember everything that happened that night," she continued. "And I guess I don't blame anyone who'd taken Potion X before and tried it again, coz I'm telling you, it's really quite something." She leaned forward as if to emphasize her point, her breasts spread out on the glass table in front of her. "Makes you feel everything everywhere in your body."

She paused and leaned back in her chair, taking on a pensive look. She stared at Harry who glanced up at her but just as quickly turned back to his pretense of studying his files.

"You know, we can both watch it at the same time - you know, my memories of the Wigtown party. I guess it would be like watching Muggle porn, you know? My mum's family's big on reunions and we used to attend them a lot when my grandparents were still alive. My Muggle cousins and I used to watch a lot of Muggle porn when the adults were not looking." She shrugged. "If we view my memories of that night, maybe it would be like that, you know, watching VHS."

From his peripheral vision, Harry could see that the department secretary had stopped following the minutes of the interrogation and was now frankly staring at Glennis, her mouth open. Harry would have been amused at the expression on her face, except he himself had just about reached the end of his tether.

"No, I wouldn't know. And Muggles have DVDs now." Harry added, just so he could say something, still keeping his eyes on his files though he hadn't written anything down except the names she had given.

"DVDs? Is that like STDs? 'Coz I know STD."

Harry needed a few moments before he could answer. "No."

"Oh. I thought perhaps, maybe, it stands for Deadly Venereal Diseases or something."

Mercifully, oh most blessedly, there was a knock on the door and Ray's head disappeared for a moment as he leaned outside to talk to whoever was at the door. After a few minutes, Ray closed the door and walked up to Harry. He leaned in Harry's ear and whispered, "Weasley's sister has just arrived."

Harry nodded. He straightened his back and shuffled the papers against the table so that the edges lined up, an obvious sign that the interview was over.

"Well, if you remember anything more of what happened that night, please don't hesitate to inform us." Harry said to Glennis.

"Oh, is it over?" she blinked as if she was just roused from sleep then recovered herself. "Well, if you need me again, you can always do me. I mean, we can always do this again," she said, repeatedly jabbing the table with her index finger. But Harry doubted it would ever be likely, vowing that if he ever needed to interview her again, he would assign a female Auror on her case - not that it would make any difference to Glennis.

Harry then stood up, and Glennis reluctantly followed suit, disappointed that Harry did not swallow her bait.

"Thanks for your time. I really appreciate it," Harry said, though he was not stupid enough to extend his hand out to shake her hand. Harry turned his head towards Ray, who still had a hard time hiding his amusement, and signaled for him to escort Glennis out.

Harry wearily sat down and removed all the papers from the table except for Ginny's files. He knew every detail of her memory, of course, and though they were taken unofficially, it was voluntary given and therefore admissible in court - if the case ever reached the Tribunal. So this meeting was a mere redundancy. But Harry wasn't going to pass up the chance to talk to her. The last couple of days, he had rather been expecting an invite to dinner at the Burrow. He would have asked, but he did not want to make any impositions. But when Ron told him that their mum was taking a much needed break, Harry threw every bit of his energy working on the case instead.

As soon as he heard voices just outside the door, Harry stood up and waited patiently for Ginny to enter the room.

The secretary, who had been putting fresh parchments on her desk to take in Ginny's testimony, noticed Harry and frowned her confusion. She had never seen Potter act so formally before a witness, standing impressively tall and handsome in his Auror robes. But Harry's face remained as enigmatic as ever - what Muggles referred to as a _poking _face, whatever that meant.

But the moment Ginny entered the room, Harry's jaws tightened. The Muggle shades Ginny was wearing failed to mask the bruise underneath her eyes and he was assailed so strongly with the feeling of grief and guilt. For he knew that the superficial bruise was only an indication of the life threatening condition she had suffered from - with him away from her.

Ray led Ginny to the witness table, pulling out the chair for her. Ginny smiled her thanks to Ray and Harry couldn't help the pang of jealousy he felt. Ginny had never lifted her face once to him since she entered the room.

"Hello, Gin," Harry said, the familiarity deliberate.

Ginny nodded noncommittally to the table and gathered her robes tighter around herself, fidgeting as she clutched at what Harry guessed was the Menat necklace underneath.

Harry waited for Ginny to look up, to at least show some sign of friendship or recognition but she stubbornly kept her head down. He stared at her for quite a while but in the end, he knew that, powerful as he was, he could never win over her.

Ginny, meanwhile, was resolutely keeping her eyes down. On their way to the castle, she suddenly realized, _Harry's a Legilimens_. Her face she could keep impassive for any length of time. As a child, she learned to out-act the twins quickly enough (and to extract a few treats from her mum and dad besides). But she had yet to learn how to close her mind to Legilimens. And she knew that during interrogations, Harry would often turn to this skill to cut through the BS the suspects often gave him. Ron said so, anyway. So keen, so urgent was her needful thoughts of Harry that she was sure that he would easily read those in her mind.

She heard him sigh and moved to take his seat in front of her and then he began to speak ….

"Nice necklace," she heard him say as he leaned back in his seat and looked down as if to read his files, tapping his quill against his thigh. "I don't think I've ever seen anything _quite like it… quite like it._"

And Ginny's dander was up. She knew he couldn't see any part of the necklace underneath her clothes. What the hell was he playing at now? Was he throwing to her face the last time they saw each other, when he left her in a blind? He ought to thank his lucky stars that she hadn't got very long legs. Otherwise, she would kick his bollocks off right from underneath the table.

Harry, still staring down his parchments, did not see that Ginny had pulled her shoulders back, her jaw jutting out, her eyes narrowing underneath the shades that did not completely hide her eyes. The twins would have known to immediately run for cover, but Harry was completely oblivious and continued to speak.

"Reminds me of a flower I once saw in a friend's garden; smells a lot like jasmine, I think," Harry went on, remembering Ginny's hair scent that day at the Burrow. Ginny's anger disappeared as quickly as it rose. Her heart pounding in her chest, she absent-mindedly placed a hand in her hair. "I've always liked that flower. It took me sometime before I realized how amazing it is, but ever since, I've always liked it." He looked up to glance at Ginny, then back down to his files again. "I don't think I've ever wanted anything more in my life."

From his peripheral vision, Harry noted that the secretary had stopped her lip-reading of the words as they appeared on her parchment. Harry could almost hear the words in her head: _Harry Potter, talking about flowers_, but he was past caring now. Who knew if Ginny would ever give him a chance to speak to her again?

The secretary looked uncertainly at Harry, then at the Auror by the door, who remained unflurried. Ray had worked long enough with Harry to know that Harry never did or said anything that was unnecessary. He always had a reason, always had a plan, even if Ray did not always understand it. Ray remembered all too well how, in the last war, Harry and his friends had broken into Gringotts Bank and what could be dafter than that? And yet, apparently, it was crucial in the fight against You-Know-Who. Harry could ask whatever questions he liked; Ray knew in the end Harry would crack the case. Besides, this was Weasley's sister who was known for having a bit of a temper. If she decided she didn't like Harry's line of questioning, she was likely to blast him to kingdom come without so much as a by-your-leave.

And so Harry continued to speak into the silent room.

"Unfortunately, at that time, there was this bully - nothing more than a thief, really - who seemed to have it in for me, and I couldn't very well let him know that I'm particularly interested in this one."

_What the hell is Potter saying now? That he's always liked me? _Ginny was fuming once again. All those years that she had been suffering, and he fancied her? Ginny could just feel the smoke coming out of her ears now. What about all those Muggle women she knew he slept with?

"It's just one flower, why would you be interested in it? I'm sure you can get any you like, you can even buy one if you want to," she said, her voice bristling with sarcasm.

"It's not a flower I can just easily buy. And I don't think it's for sale, either. Still, I want it. I'm not an avaricious man, but it's the only thing I've ever wanted for myself."

"If you want it so much, then why did you leave?" Ginny said, not caring if the other Ministry employees would begin to cotton on to what she and Harry were talking about.

"I thought that it already belongs to someone else."

"And why would you think that?" Ginny's eyebrows were raised halfway up her forehead now.

Harry stared steadily at Ginny for quite a long time that she thought he would not answer.

"One morning, I came over to the place - it was the first time I've ever really gotten that close to it – and well, it looked as if someone has already watered it."

"What?" Ginny was really lost now.

"Sometimes, you can see it, on its petals, like morning dew, except it's not."

Ginny worked her brain furiously. What did Harry mean? _Someone watered it? _Watered... _her_? Obviously he was referring to the day he dropped by the Burrow, that part she guessed as much. She tried to think back what happened that day, aside from his visit.

_It was also the time you got pregnant, dummy, _the annoying voice yakked again in her head.

Was he talking about sexual afterglow then? She reddened and touched her face. Did Harry really see that on her face? Perhaps he did. How many times had she heard Leslie say that she often used it as a beauty enhancer the same way she used make-up? Ginny didn't know whether to believe it or not.

But if he did, no wonder the git ran off on her. This was her brother's best friend after all. She remembered too clearly how Ron turned against Hermione at the news that Hermione snogged Victor Krum, and that was based on second-hand information. And Harry had to see the evidence on her face. But it was not as if she knew. She hadn't done anything wrong. Besides, it must have been hours since she slept with someone. It couldn't have been sexual afterglow that he had seen on her face, but the Potion. And even if she did have sex that night, it was not as if she didn't know about his numerous affairs with Muggle women. What a hypocrite! Ginny wanted nothing more than to throw her shoes at him.

"That is no excuse for you to leave, seeing as how you yourself frequently water other people's gardens!"

"I know, and I'm sorry. Believe me, Ginny, there is nothing I regret more. I don't think I'll ever be able to forgive myself."

"But why should it matter to you? I've seen your garden. Seems to me you already have plenty enough flowers for your enjoyment. Aren't you quite the avid gardener yourself?" Ginny said archly.

"I don't care about any of them. I never have. I only want this one," Harry said. So intense was Harry's gaze that it burned right through to Ginny's soul. But Ginny held her ground, her indignation, the double standard of it all, fuelling her anger.

"The flower you're talking about? But you yourself said that someone else has already been to water it. It's already despoiled, you might say," she said pulling back and crossing her arms across her chest.

"I don't care. It's not important to me," Harry's voice was steady and earnest.

"You still want it even though other gardeners have already been through it?" Ginny said, her voice rising in disbelief.

"It's still the same flower," Harry insisted. He paused, then said, looking Ginny straight in the eye, "If I am allowed, if ever I'm lucky enough, I would like to bring the flower home with me and take care of it for the rest of my life. In fact, I wanted it so much that it was the last thing I thought of in the forest at the Battle."

The secretary and the Auror Ray glanced at Harry. They had never known him to speak of the events in the last war, though they'd already heard plenty from the trials of the Death Eaters and the testimony of Harry's friend, Hagrid. But Harry himself had never spoken about it.

Ginny herself was speechless. She looked down her lap in confusion, her eyes starting to sting. Did Harry just say what she thought he said? All those years, all this time, Harry had been in love with her? She wept inside for all the wasted time, when she could have had him in her life. All those nights, alone in her bed, when all she could think of was him, wishing she could love him.

"Are you alright Ginny?" Harry said, speaking with a tenderness no one had ever heard before, except for Ginny. Ginny could only nod. Then she felt something in the palm of her hand. She opened it and found a miniature bourbon rose in her right hand. She clasped her fingers over it quickly, afraid the others in the room might see.

She wasn't sure how she felt anymore. Harry had dropped several bombshells on her. On the one hand, she felt happy, elated, that it was her Harry had been in love with all along. But at the same time, she wasn't sure if she could forgive him for walking out on her for what to her was an inexcusable reason, left her when she needed him the most. It was a side to him that she hadn't known, she wasn't expecting. Did she really want this Harry? A clay-footed Harry? But then again, what man is perfect? When it came to men, You take the good with the bad, her mum always said.

But the part of her who knew nothing but to love him was already starting to make excuses for him. His instinct was to run away, Ginny, to protect himself from hurt and not to hurt and punish you.' Ginny had heard horror stories of how irrational men could be when they become jealous. '

And she simply could not forget what he had revealed about the last Battle, that when he thought he was dying, she was the last thing on his mind. She looked up at him but knew she wasn't going to get anything from his facial expression, with other people in the room. She looked down at her hands once again, feeling completely overwhelmed. She needed time to think.

"I want to go home," Ginny said at last, her voice sounding weak even to her own ears.

Harry stared at Ginny for a long time then his eyes settled on her right hand still holding tightly the rose. She had not let go of it. He would know the moment she did. It would return to him.

Harry stood up and walked around the desk, his eyes never leaving Ginny for one moment. But Ginny seemed determined to burn a hole through the floor and refused to look up. He assisted Ginny in getting out of the chair, but kept his hand away from her skin.

"Thank you," murmured Ginny to the room, addressing her brother's Ron's colleagues.

Ray opened the door. The room where the interrogation was being held was at the end of a long corridor, with doors on either side. At the other end of the corridor was an open sitting room that led to the wide curved staircase to the first floor. To the right of this was the lift that led to hidden floors below.

Mrs. Weasley, who had been standing anxiously at the end of the corridor, immediately ran up to Harry and Ginny the moment they appeared in the doorway. She went straight to Ginny and became worried as soon as she saw Ginny's face.

"What happened? Ginny?" Mrs. Weasley was puzzled. She expected Harry to be gentle with her daughter. She turned to him, ready to peck at him like an angry bird. "You haven't been too hard on her, Harry, have you?"

"Mum, it's okay," Ginny said, anxious that her mum should not make a scene. "I was just feeling tired."

"Should we head straight to St. Mungo's?" she peered again anxiously at Ginny's face.

"No, mum. I feel fine, I just want to go home."

But Harry was loath to let Ginny leave so soon. And though on this side, he could not see much the bruise on her face, he was aching to do something about it.

"Uhm, you know," Harry said, addressing Mrs. Weasley knowing that Ginny would refuse. "I think I may be able to do something about Ginny's bruise."

"Oh, I don't know, Harry. Her blood vessels are very fragile. In fact her Healers are worried that Ginny might lose her eyesight. If it weren't for the - " She caught herself just in time.

"I promise I won't hurt her…._mum_."

Despite herself, Ginny's head whipped up. That was a low blow coming from Harry. It was downright cheating. He knew that her mum would give anything to have the right to call Harry her son. She could just see her mum about to blubber. She narrowed her eyes, feeling strongly the urge to kick Harry's shins - or knee his balls. Ginny wasn't very particular.

Mrs. Weasley stood staring back at Harry. It was the first time Harry had called her Mum. For one whole minute she forgot about her daughter and hugged Harry. Her mum's back was to Ginny and Harry was staring at her. Ginny couldn't help but look up back to him, locked in his penetrating gaze. Suddenly it seemed it was just the two of them around. Thankfully, her mum pulled from the hug and looked up at Harry.

"Well, if you're sure, Harry. I trust you."

And suddenly Ginny found herself standing too close to Harry. She knew he hadn't stopped staring at her but she refused to meet his gaze. He tentatively touched her chin and lifted her face up. Gently, Harry rubbed the pad of his left thumb on the area around her eyes. Ginny hardly felt the magic, except for a slight warmth around her eyes. But it didn't mean that she wasn't feeling anything. Because her entire body had started to tingle the first moment Harry touched her skin.

But she kept her eyes determinedly focused on the floor, or she would if Harry had not lifted her chin up so high that she could not see clearly below his chest. His neck, then. The top button of his shirt was open and she could clearly see his neck. She didn't notice it before because she could hardly look at Harry's face. And now she could see the bruise around his neck, like a necklace, darker on the sides and on the hollow just underneath his Adam's apple. She wondered what happened. What could come so close to him that could inflict such damage. And her irritation disappeared with the knowledge that Harry was always involved in some dangerous, life-threatening mission, that it was not only her life that had been on the line but his as well, that in the last three months, she could have easily lost him too.

She was about to lift her eyes up to him, certain now of what to do. But then, her eyes strayed towards his Adam's apple and a very strong image of her licking it flashed in her mind. They looked naked, with Ginny half-lying over Harry, her wet tongue on his skin. As soon as the image formed in her mind's eyes, Ginny wanted nothing more than to perform the very act.

Her face was burning now. Ginny had never known such wanton need before. She now truly understood what it felt like to truly need a man. And now more than ever, she kept her eyes away from Harry. He was sure to see the image in her mind.

Perhaps it was just the pregnancy hormones that were making her so horny. She wasn't completely unaware of it. The one thing they discovered about veela women was how extremely horny they got when they're pregnant. Randy didn't even cover the word. George had quipped if he only knew how part-Veelas acted when pregnant then he would have married one of Fleur's cousins, which of course drew a wallop in his head not only from his wife but from Mrs. Weasley and Ginny as well. Unfortunately, both Ron and Hermione seemed to take it as a direct challenge, a game of one-upmanship, and the family was subjected to colorful reports of the two's latest shenanigans.

Ginny started to fidget, clutching the rose so tightly she hoped she didn't crush it. But she must strive to keep her hands away from Harry at all costs.

At last, he was finished. Ginny did not dare look up at him, afraid of what she might do. Not in this place full of people, her friends and colleagues, and her parents.

Then, from her sex-addled haze, she heard distantly a door opening.

"Potter, a word?" She heard a male voice calling.

Harry turned towards the man who spoke then turned back towards them.

"Would you please wait for me? I won't be long." Harry glanced at Ginny who was still looking determinedly down at the floor. Harry would have despaired if he hadn't known that she was still holding the bourbon rose in her hand.

"It's okay, Harry. We understand, you have work to do," Mrs. Weasley spoke uncertainly.

"No, mum, please wait for me."

By this time the other Auror had taken a few steps towards them and had heard Harry's last words; he stared at Mrs. Weasley as if he were seeing her in a new light. He waited until Ginny and Mrs. Weasley had walked out of earshot before he turned and spoke to Harry again.

"Potter, what the hell was that?" he whispered. "Flowers? How are we supposed to get anything from this?"

"It's okay. I already got what I wanted," Harry said. He had never once removed his eyes from Ginny.

"Look, Potter, I know the Weasleys are like family to you, but you can't pussyfoot around Ron's sister just so you can spare her the ugly side of this business. If anything, worse is going to come. When we find a suspect, she may have to testify." Gibbons was still not aware of Ginny's condition.

Harry turned his face to his colleague then, who looked seriously worried. Not having Ron to work with on this case to bounce ideas against, and not needing Yes-men around him, Harry requested this Senior Auror to help him out on the case. Unfortunately, Gibbons had a tendency to think the worst of things, having witnessed many of his colleagues die in the last war, and Harry often found himself needing to reassure the elder man instead.

"Relax, Gibbons," Harry said, clapping Gibbons on the shoulder. "I know what I'm doing. I already have her memory of the party, remember? This is just a formality, just to show that we did not give special treatments to anyone. If there's any problem, I'll stand by it. Tell you what, why don't you follow up on the memories of the other guests at the party, and we'll see what we can get from them."

Gibbons still looked unconvinced but Harry had already started walking down the corridor to the sitting room.

"You know Potter, I used to envy you your power," Gibbons said, speaking louder as Harry walked farther away. "But now I'm beginning to think that all those powerful wizards like Grindelwald, You-Know-Who, and even your mentor Dumbledore – they've all had a reputation for being a bit touched in the head." Harry only grinned back at him. "I wonder if you'll soon follow!" he shouted to Harry's now retreating back. Harry only waved back a hand quite cheerfully.

Harry walked directly to where Ginny and Mrs. Weasley were standing by the lifts, hardly sparing a glance to the other Harpies players seated on the large sofa still waiting for their turn to be interviewed. The Harpies' team manager and another player, whom Harry recognized as Leslie Winters, had now joined Ginny and her mum. Leslie was holding on tightly to both of Ginny's hands.

"It's okay, Leslie. I'm fine," Ginny was saying to Leslie.

"I tried to send you a box of Muggle chocolates, you know, the ones you like."

A small smile played on Ginny's lips. "Yes, I got them. And thank you. Did you get into much trouble for trying to send me those?" Leslie, Shelly, and another reserve player were on 24-hour supervision — virtually under house arrest — their wands taken away, to prevent them from hooking up with anybody and getting themselves pregnant until the effects of Potion X had worn off their bodies. Management didn't trust them to cope on their own.

Leslie shook her head, looking a bit sheepish. Just then the lift doors opened, revealing Mr. Weasley. He saw Harry first and smiled.

"Hey, Dad," said Harry.

Mr. Weasley stood stock still for a moment then looked uncertainly at his wife but Mrs. Weasley's beaming face was all the reassurance he needed. "Hey, son," he replied, a certain relish in his voice upon uttering a word. "We're ready to go," he said, smiling too.

Mrs. Weasley turned to her daughter but Leslie still seemed reluctant to let go of Ginny's hands.

"Uhm, Leslie?" Mrs. Weasley said. "We need to be going."

Leslie looked around at them, then back to Ginny's face. She refused to let go of Ginny's hands. Harry didn't need his Legilimency skills to know why. It was all there in her face, in her eyes: Leslie didn't think Ginny would survive her pregnancy. She thought that this would be the last time she would see Ginny alive – or even awake. Leslie must have heard about Sylvie and the pregnant Harpies patient who had died despite being under the watchful care of St. Mungo's. She didn't know about the Menat necklace, didn't know that Ginny was protected. And Harry had seen more of the world in the last three months, learned more about magic, and other magical practices, so many resources untapped that he was sure to find some other way to save Ginny. She now had plenty of options. She would live. He would make certain of that.

He spoke to Leslie. "Leslie, Ginny's going to be fine. Nothing's going to happen to her. I assure you," Harry said earnestly.

Leslie spared Harry a glance but it was as if she didn't even see him. She obviously did not believe him.

The team manager who stood hanging back piped in as well. "Leslie," the team manager said gently, "you'll be up next."

"She'll be fine, Leslie," Harry said. "I won't let anything happen to Ginny. I promise." There was something in the tone of Harry's voice that made Leslie fully turn her head towards him. Perhaps it was the way he said Ginny's name. She looked into Harry's eyes as if searching for something. Harry stared steadily back at her. She must have been reassured somewhat because she nodded. She turned to Ginny.

"Write to me soon," she said and kissed Ginny gently on the cheek.

"Bye, Ginny." The team manager said and smiled at the rest of them.

Harry accompanied them all the way to the castle's front entrance where the Weasleys' Ford was already waiting in the driveway. Harry wanted to accompany them all the way home to the Burrow. But there was still a list of Harpies players he had to personally question.

Harry kept close to Ginny's side all this time and tried to engage her in conversation. But Ginny was stubbornly refusing to lift her head. Harry desperately wanted to sneak in a word to her, only her, to ask if they could talk. But every time he opened his mouth to ask a question, either Mrs. Weasley or Mr. Weasley would answer him and so Harry kept his conversations casual.

Soon they were outside, standing before the Ford under the porte-cochere. It was Mr. Weasley who turned to Harry first, offering his hand to shake. Then Mrs. Weasley in turn hugged him.

"You'll join us for dinner this Sunday, Harry?" she said, beaming up at him.

"I'll be there, mum."

Then the two elder Weasleys turned to Ginny. Mrs. Weasley knew how Ginny truly felt about Harry and Mr. Weasley had long ago suspected it. They were rather afraid Harry might mistake Ginny's reticence as rudeness.

"Ginny?" Mrs. Weasley prompted her daughter as if Ginny was a child being taught basic manners.

"Bye, Harry. Thanks," Ginny mumbled to her fist that was clutching the Bourbon rose. Then she looked up and she and Harry exchanged a fleeting look. It was the most Ginny could do with both her parents' eyes on her.

"I'll see you soon, Ginny," Harry said softly, his voice a caress, but perhaps only to her ears.

Then all of a sudden both her parents were herding her into the car like some invalid. Ginny was slightly disappointed, but then Harry's hands anywhere on her body right now would not be a good idea. Then Mr. and Mrs. Weasley themselves got into the car. Mr. Weasley revved up the engine then eased the car gently out of the driveway, with Harry following slowly behind the car. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley turned back and waved goodbye to Harry but Harry could not see Ginny's face in the backseat. He remained standing there as he watched the car start its drive down the lane that led out of the castle grounds.

The car had moved a couple of meters when Ginny turned her head around and saw Harry still standing, watching the car, watching her. Harry kept her eyes on her as she sat there, looking back at him until the car turned a corner and out of his sight.

Throughout the long drive back to Devon, Ginny remained quiet, staring down at the Bourbon rose in the palm of her hand. She was relieved to find that she hadn't done any damage gripping it so tightly.

As soon as they reached home, Ginny headed directly to her room and sat down at her desk. She opened her hand. The bourbon rose was still as fresh as if it had just been plucked. And then slowly the flower shimmered and the petals began to unfold one by one until, fully extended, it turned into a letter, with Harry's handwriting on it. She read the letter. And re-read it over and over again until she could not see anymore, her eyes blurry with tears. She no longer needed to despair, to hope, to wonder. And despite the tears, she was giddy with the certainty that in Harry she found herself a man who would never let her go.

And she would not play mind games with him, she decided, to not play coy, not punish him for acting so stupidly. After all, she had six – five – brothers. Life was simply too short to run away from love. And the loss of her uncles, her friends, and her brother had taught her to simply cherish love in places where she found it. And in Harry she knew she would have all the happiness she would ever hope for in her life.

She looked down once again at the letter in her hand and read anew.

_Dear Ginny, _

_In case I never get the chance to talk to you again - if you would even let me - I just want to make it clear: I meant every word I said. There hasn't been anyone else nor will there ever be. It has always been you. _

_There is nothing in the world I wouldn't give to come home to you, Ginny, everyday, for the rest of my life. If you want me, I'm always yours. _

_Love, Always _

_Harry _

~•~

A/N:

About the priest character. Actually ch 7 is a rewrite. In d original, H is in a different country dealing w/ a diff creature w/c is quite evil. But I needed the events in Serbia & I wanted to feature just 1 country, 1 creature when ron fetches H. so a lot of the dialogue bet d priest & H about faith & d priest's background got lost in d rewrite. Actually what I wanted fr d dialogue was not only to explain a few things (fiendfyre, etc) but really for H to learn certain truths about love but not necessarily fr a romantic source. I wanted H to recognize his own love 4 Ginny in the priest's love for God.

As to why Fr. Lockefeer believes in God, sometimes faith, like love, no longer is a matter ot choice.

As to wizards' attitude to Hermione. Uhm, wizards think Muggles r weird, & by extension, Muggleborns. They hear all these things about how Muggles put dogs and monkeys in machines then shoot them into outer space to orbit the earth, and how Muggles drill ice cores and _study ice._ And what's up with Muggles dressing up their heroes in tight-fitting costumes with their underpants on the outside? Everyone in the wizarding world knows that if anybody tries suggesting that to Harry Potter's face, the poor sod will surely be blasted to smithereens. :3

A bit of background story:

How Father Killdeer became a priest. He was sent to seminary school by his mother bec she thought he was being haunted by a poltergeist (bec of all the accidental magic). In terms of HP universe, I imagine that the CC has always known that magic exists, recognized its use and the CC's own vulnerability if it doesn't maintain its own cadre of magical priests (and nuns), hence Fr. Lockefeer.


	10. Chapter 10

Harry Potter and the Necklace of Menat

Chapter 10

The following Sunday, Harry made good his promise to Teddy for a visit in the park, then dropped his godson home just after lunch. Molly had already invited the Tonks over earlier that Friday but Andromeda felt it was still too early for the Burrow to be entertaining guests. Harry, however, was family to the Weasleys. His presence was mandatory.

Harry rushed back to Grimmauld to get ready for his visit to the Burrow. He took his time in the shower, his head bent forward, palms splayed against the tiles. He let the water run down his hair and his body as he catalogued, organized his thoughts. The Weasley brothers were sure to ask him questions about the case. Though Ron he could hold at bay (besides, his bestmate knew well enough not to ask), Harry wasn't sure he could hold off the others as easily. Admittedly, there was very little he could tell them even if he wanted to. Still, it was best to be prepared.

He mentally went over the long list of things he still had to do regarding the case. Some should have been attended to by the MLES department immediately after the incident. But they only made surface investigations in the beginning, then altogether stopped pursuing leads any further. Not only Kingsley, but somewhere in the MLE pipeline, someone or several had decided that this was a Harry Potter case and let the case lie idle until his return to England.

And now he had to play catch-up.

Harry stood straight and turned off the water. He ran his hand through his wet hair as if by the action he was mentally brushing off the thought of everything related to the case. Through the glass partition he glanced at his watch on the bathroom counter nearby and saw it was fifteen past three. Ron and Hermione had already gone ahead earlier that day to meet Charlie who had arrived that morning to celebrate Ginny's return to good health.

Obviously he was running late. But this would be the first time he and Ginny would meet after their interview last Thursday. He had no idea what kind of reception he would receive from her. He felt the stirrings of apprehension begin to gurgle in his gut. How was it possible that he could face the Darkest Wizard of all time and his courage not waver, but the prospect of facing this woman - a tiny slip of a woman at that - could terrify him?

Harry drew a deep sigh, stepped out of the shower, and got dressed. Once again, he Apparated right from inside his room into the Burrow's front yard and was immediately greeted with childish giggles and laughter, his heart warming with the reassuring sounds of life.

He walked around the property and stopped just at the corner of the house that gave him a view into the backyard. He stood there for a few moments, watching the scene. Harry felt the toasty warmth in the air and smiled. Dragon's breath fire. Charlie must have brought some with him. The tables had already been set in the garden. Most of the Weasley women were huddled together on one side, poring over an array of magazines and newspapers laid out on the table. Mr. Weasley and Percy sat on one end, while Charlie, Bill, Ron, and George stood grouped together a few paces nearby.

But Harry's eyes did not cease its searching sweep until he found Ginny standing in front of the Centaurs' tree, standing despite the wrought iron chair with seat cushions placed near her. At the table, Victoire was looking morosely at her aunt, her arms crossed. _Wonder what that was about_, Harry thought.

"Harry!"

An avalanche of Weasley children, led by Freddie, came barreling towards him. As the first ones hit him, Harry, laughing heartily, stumbled back and had to catch his footing. Then the flood of babble started.

"Piggyback ride!"

"Hawwy, do you have candy?"

"Harry, Freddie pushed me earlier. Will you turn him into a frog?"

"I did not!"

"You did, too!"

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

Harry, meanwhile, felt eyes upon him. He turned his head and saw Ginny trying hard to keep herself from laughing. Feeling great relief, Harry grinned back, and shrugged his shoulders helplessly.

Just then, Mrs. Weasley emerged from the back door of the Burrow, carefully conducting with her wand a covered serving dish hovering in front of her. George's house-elf tottered at her heels, hands outstretched, as if afraid that the dish would spill over. Hearing the commotion, Mrs. Weasley looked up from the dish and saw Harry's dilemma.

"Children, leave Harry alone!" she shouted and then gave Harry a rueful smile. Harry returned it with a good-natured one back.

"Hi, Harry." Angelina had come forward to collect her son, scooping Freddie around the waist and pulling the boy from Harry. "Sorry," she said, as she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

"Hi, Harry."

Audrey and Bill, too, had come forward to claim their respective kids.

"Sorry, Harry," Bill said as he picked up Dominique and carried her over his shoulder in a fireman's carry.

"It was nothing," Harry said. Their exchange of smiles was indulgent.

"Harry!" Charlie waved him over to where he and the others gathered. Harry and Bill then went back to the table, Harry walking slightly behind Bill making faces at Dominique who giggled at his antics. When they reached the others, Bill put Dominique down who, the moment her feet touched the ground, sped off like a rocket to go and play with her cousins.

"Harry," called out Mr. Weasley.

"Dad," said Harry, smiling. Charlie raised an eyebrow at him but Harry merely shrugged his shoulders. He stole a glance back towards Ginny but she had already turned her attention back to the tree.

"Harry, why didn't you tell me you were in Serbia? I would have come over," Charlie said.

"Sorry. But the visit was supposed to be a secret?" said Harry, inflecting his voice up on the last word.

"It was. But after you left, you know, it's like the floodgates were opened," and he gestured towards the papers the women seated on the other side of the table were poring over. Harry could just see a part of the headline, but he could easily recognize his name. Hermione looked up and threw him a smirk.

"Have you seen this?" George's eyes were glued on a page of a witches' magazine, with pictures of Harry and his female Auror interpreter taken at the Serbian Ministry.

"Wow, Harry, I didn't know you've been keeping with such wonderful company while you were away saving the rest of the world. _That_… is one hell of a woman," George said. The words were teasing, but the tone they were delivered in felt accusatory. Harry scrutinized George, but the latter kept his face down.

"You know, she's quite famous in that part of the world," said Charlie, gesturing at the magazine with his butterbeer. "She can seriously kick ass. But she's even more famous for her beauty, especially when you see her in person. Isn't that right, Harry?" Charlie added, with a knowing wink. "Unfortunately, she's got a bit of reputation for being standoffish. You know, I once tried to ask her out. One of our dragons strayed into Serbia; that's when I met her – "

"But she's taller than you!" Ron gaped, waving his bottle of butterbeer and almost sloshing Harry who deftly stepped back.

"So?" said Charlie. "What I lack in height, I make up for in other ways," he said, wriggling his eyebrows at Harry. Bill rolled his eyes.

"For sure, for sure," George added, still flipping the pages over. He was only a couple of inches taller than Charlie.

"She doesn't date just anybody, you know," Charlie continued, addressing Harry. "But I know she fancies you."

"What witch doesn't?" George quipped, folding the magazine and tucking it under his arm.

"It's common knowledge in those parts. She once was asked in an interview if she thinks there's any man good enough for her and her answer was: 'Harry Potter?' She made it sound as if she was joking, but I don't think she was." Charlie gave Harry a probing look that Harry pretended not to notice. He was starting to get seriously annoyed. Had Ginny read the magazines? Surely, she could see from the pictures that he was keeping a professional distance from the Serbian Auror. Still, how much of their conversation was being carried over to her? Harry glanced back at Ginny. If she heard any of it, she wasn't giving any sign. What would she make of all these, after their meeting, after his letter?

Charlie's voice once again intruded upon his thoughts.

"You know, you visiting their country was quite a big deal for them. And I'm not just talking about the Drekavac. It was not an accident that they assigned her as your interpreter. But curious that after your visit, she quashes all talk of a possibility of any romantic relationship between you. Made an official statement, in fact. That you were there to help the Serbian people with a very difficult problem, and have succeeded, etc. I was curious at the sudden turnaround. Seems to me she wouldn't have said anything if nothing happened." He gave Harry a direct gaze. "Wanted to hear the full story straight from you."

"Wait a minute," George said in disbelief, placing a hand against Harry's chest. "Harry, don't tell me you turned this woman down? Are you daft?" Then George gave him a calculating look, eyeing Harry up and down. "Or maybe the rumors about you are true. You aren't gay, Harry, are you?"

Now it was Bill's turn to whack George across the back of his head.

"Don't be stupid. Harry's not gay," Bill said as Ron, Harry, and Charlie laughed.

"What the hell?" George said, rubbing his head. "Will you people stop hitting me on the head? I'm already missing an ear or haven't you noticed?"

"Stop being an ass, then," Bill said as Harry and the others continued laughing.

Then Charlie caught Harry's eye and suddenly the mood shifted. Ron and Harry exchanged brief glances.

"I think I'll get another bottle," Ron said and ambled away.

"So, how's Ginny's case? Any leads?" Charlie asked as soon as Ron was out of earshot.

"A couple," Harry answered cryptically. He couldn't really tell the brothers much of anything. The Weasleys were a passionate lot. Harry didn't know if he could hold any of them back if a suspect was found. Not sure that he would want to, either. In fact, he himself was barely holding his anger in. It was only years of experience that taught him to keep his own emotions in check whenever he was working on a case.

"Ron said that you've been trying to get a meeting with the Wigtown Wanderers?" George put in, clearly fishing for more information about the case.

"I think they're afraid that they would be banned from playing next season," Harry said. Word had been put out officially that the Holyhead Harpies had been disqualified from the games as punishment for the poisoning incident and not for voluntarily forfeiting the games because of the conditions of the players. "The Department has already sent an official letter that they are not being investigated for their party last hols, but they're not budging."

"As if it would make any difference. They're in the bottom league," George snorted.

"Try telling them that," said Harry. "Anyway, they're up against the Cannons first game next season. And that's a certain win. They aren't going to pass the chance."

"Can't believe you said that," George said, glancing at Ron who was now picking through Mrs. Weasley's roasted pork belly. Brave of him, Harry thought, inwardly wincing, and cast a quick glance towards the kitchen where Mrs. Weasley had gone back into.

"Can't believe Ron's been divulging inside information to outsiders," said Harry, without any real heat to his voice. "He's supposed to keep his nose out of the case."

But Bill had been watching Harry closely. Harry spoke so matter-of-factly that it caught his attention. "But you've found a way to get to them," he stated.

"You know, you aren't really allowed to ask," Harry said, addressing the three.

"Eh." George shrugged.

But Harry was already through with the topic. His eyes strayed once again towards Victoire, who was still staring mulishly at Ginny. And he seized at the chance to change the conversation.

"What's up with Victoire?" he asked Bill.

"Don't worry about her,' said Bill, gazing fondly at his daughter who noticed, pouted at Bill, and turned her face away from her father, her nose up in the air. "She's just upset that we're not letting her anywhere near Ginny right now.'

"Why? What happened?"

"Nothing's happened. It's just Ginny's a lot better now and she doesn't need to be constantly monitored. So, Victoire's a little upset that she doesn't get to play guard duty to Ginny. But Ginny needs some breathing space," said Bill, now nodding towards Ginny's direction. "It can't have been too easy for her with all of us constantly on her case, Mum's hard enough. But Ginny has never complained," he added, giving his sister the same fond look he had given his own daughter, "never said anything."

Harry followed Bill's gaze. "Is she alright?"

"She's fine. She discovered something about the tree."

"What is it?"

"You'll see."

"Can I go talk to her?"

Harry made a convenient exit then. He knew the moment Ginny felt him approach. She made a shudder of movement but she still kept her face forward.

"Hey, Gin." Harry was about to say '_Aren't you cold?'_ but remembered the dragon fire, so he said instead, "Ehrm, what's up?"

Ginny turned her face towards him, her face beaming. "It does something. Look." Ginny then turned her head back towards the tree and lifted her hand. Immediately, one of the limbs bent down towards her and the tip of the branch gently brushed against her fingers. Then the branch moved further down towards her face and its leaves started caressing her cheeks.

"Oh. I've always wanted to do that," Harry murmured.

Ginny turned her shining face towards him. "It will only do that to me," Ginny said.

"How did you find out it does that?" Harry stared wonder-eyed at the tree.

"I was walking earlier, and Freddie was running past me. I tried to move sideways to avoid being hit by him, and I lost my footing. I was about to fall and somehow the tree picked me up, very gently. Then it turned to Freddie and lifted him up by the ankle, over its top. He kept Freddie in the air and wouldn't let go until I asked it to."

"It's a Guardian Tree," Harry said, just now realizing. He remembered Dumbledore mentioning it in his Transfiguration book. "Like the Whomping Willow. But they're extremely rare. And this one's even rarer."

"How?"

"Guardian Trees mostly protect a place, but rarely individuals. There is only one recorded event of a Guard Tree protecting a human, and that's the Muggle king Charles II."

"Oh, you mean the Royal Oak? It was magical then?"

"Yes. Although, of course, the Muggles don't know it."

Harry then walked up towards the tree, and looked at its body, where a large hole sat staring out in front of him right in the middle of the trunk. He placed his hand inside the hole and started gently pushing inwards and against the sides of the hollow, as if massaging it.

Ginny walked up beside him. "What are you doing?" she said.

"Look," Harry said, pointing at the now larger hole. "You can hide inside it when there's danger. It will form a shell around you and no amount of magic or physical force can force it to remove you. They can burn the entire tree and still it won't give up the person it's guarding." Harry started walking around the tree, picking his way over the roots that had grown long and tangled overnight. "I wonder if it can also dig up a tunnel from here to a safe place like the Whomping Willow," Harry murmured to himself, as he returned to Ginny's side. "You do know that the Whomping Willow leads to the Shrieking Shack?" Harry asked.

Ginny's face reddened. "Ehrm, yes. I overheard Ron and Hermione talking about it years ago."

Harry grinned, amused. "Let me guess, the Extendable Ears?"

"Where did you get it?" Ginny said, ignoring the question. Harry laughed.

"The Greek Centaurs gave them to me," he said, still smiling. Then he gazed down softly at her face and spoke earnestly. "They said to plant it where my heart truly lie."

Ginny returned Harry's gaze as calmly back as she could even though her heart was racing, even though she felt she was going to tip over with the emotion that suddenly overfilled her. For a long moment, neither of them spoke and just stood there, staring at each other's eyes.

Finally, Harry broke the silence, though it did not still the overwhelming feeling that seemed to hung in the air, wrapped around them.

"Ginny, did you read my letter?" he said.

But Ginny only smiled up at him then looked back again towards the tree, trying to buy herself time to calm down. When she turned her face back to Harry, she gave a non-sequitur for a reply. "Do you remember what George was like after the Battle?" she said. "We've all been very worried. But it was you who brought him back to us. Do you remember? After his attack at Diagon Alley, how you stayed at his flat and looked out for him. That Christmas we were all home having dinner. You weren't around though; you were still working hard at the Ministry. Then in the middle of the meal, George suddenly spoke. He said, 'We may have a problem. I think Harry's in love with me.' We all looked nervously at one another at first. But then we realized George was joking. It was his first joke after Fred died. 'Harry's in love with me.'"

"Ehrm – " Harry scratched the back of his neck, unsure what Ginny was trying to say. But the times Ron and Hermione had had a tiff, Ron would complain to him later on how Hermione had a tendency to say a lot of things during their fight, bringing up offenses he didn't even remember making and all Ron could do was say sorry. Was this one of those baffling things women do?

"You saved my life," Ginny continued to speak. "You saved Dad's. Ron's... Mum's. You gave us back George. He'll never be the same," she added with a sad smile, "but at least he's not a walking zombie anymore." She stopped for a pause. "I'm used to amazing men in my life, Harry — my uncles, my dad, Bill, each and every one of my brothers. But even without all that – " Ginny then turned her body to face Harry fully " – _how can it not be you_?"

Harry did not realize he had been holding his breath for so long. But suddenly he became very aware of his own ragged breathing, looking at Ginny, her face naked with an emotion he could well recognize as his own. But before he could say anything, Ginny spoke anxiously.

"Did you really mean that Harry, about the baby?"

Harry, his eyes caressing Ginny's face, replied. "Yes. I grew up with blood relatives, Ginny, and yet it's from complete strangers that I learned about love – Sirius, Hagrid, Ron, Hermione, your family —"

"And me," she said smiling.

"Do you really mean it?" Harry asked, searching Ginny's face.

"Do you not know?"

"I hoped. I dreamt," Harry answered truthfully.

But Ginny started biting her lip, her face starting to cloud. She turned her face away from Harry, looking out into the distance. "You hurt me," she said after a while.

"I know. I'm sorry," Harry said, not hiding his heartfelt remorse at what he had done to her.

But Ginny looked back up at Harry again. "And I hurt you, too."

"I've always loved you," Harry said, voicing the only thing that was truly important.

"We won't do it again," Ginny said with determination.

But Harry was not done yet. "Ginny, I'm really sorry, for everything, for leaving you, for not being there when you needed me. Just the thought that I could have lost you at any time in the last three months – " his voice trailed off, looking away, pain clearly visible on his face. But then he looked down at Ginny, with an expression of pure resolve. "I'll never leave you again. I promise. And I'll spend the rest of my life trying to make up to you. Promise. I do."

"I promise to love you too, for the rest of my life," Ginny said, teasingly misdirecting his words – he looked so serious. And if she didn't cool it herself, she might start crying in front of her family.

"So, do I get to kiss you now?" Harry said, an urgency in his voice.

"Now?" Ginny raised her eyebrows, glancing towards her family behind Harry's back.

"We're among family," Harry said. He was done hiding his feelings for Ginny. It had been years. It was enough.

Ginny regarded him for a while, smiling at the intent look on his face. She would let him be a man. For now.

She lifted her arms and placed them upon his shoulders, Harry at once meeting the movement with his own arms wrapping around her waist and simultaneously pulling her closer. He leaned down and claimed her lips.

A cry of alarm from Victoire immediately broke from the table, but was cut off just as quickly. Ginny vaguely perceived hearing Fleur talking to her daughter but more immediate was her awareness of Harry, the very sense of him – his kiss, his very male hold of her, an embrace she had been longing for since she was a young girl. Then an absolute veil of silence fell upon the garden, but the two were now completely lost in each other, loving each other, drinking each other, that they didn't notice. For how long they reveled in the kiss, Harry and Ginny did not know, didn't care. It had been years, and it seemed that not all the kissing they were doing right now could fill the loneliness and longing of all those years. It would simply never be enough….

They felt they could go on forever except...

"Oi, Potter! My sister needs nourishment but I don't think your tongue down her throat counts as _nourriture _– OW!"

"George! There are children around!" Mrs. Weasley's voice rang out.

"But I'm not the one – "

Mrs. Weasley cut him off. "You better not finish that sentence, George! You-Had-Better-Not!"

Harry wanted to, but Ginny beat him to flipping the bird at George behind Harry's back.

"Ginevra!" Mrs. Weasley cried, sounding thoroughly scandalized, but the rest of the family tittered, and the two continued the kiss. Still, all too soon, it seemed to Harry, they broke apart. They weren't alone after all. Harry reluctantly let go of Ginny who looked up at him, giddy with a happiness Harry could claim as his own. Suddenly he became very sheepish, realizing what his actions would seem like to the rest of the family. He had been successful in hiding his feelings for Ginny over the years. Not even Hermione, who knew him so well, clued in on that fact. It would look a lot as if he was taking advantage of Ginny. Besides, Mr. Weasley was there.

"It's okay, no one looks angry," Ginny said, taking a sneak at her family behind Harry's back. Except for Bill, she noticed, who, though he didn't look angry, didn't seem too pleased, either. She didn't tell Harry though.

"They love you Harry, as much as I do," Ginny said, but then reconsidered. "Well, perhaps not as much."

Harry took a deep breath, fully conscious that press reports of his dates with Muggle women made him sound like a lothario. But Ginny slipped her fingers in his hand and beamed up at him, reassuring him. Harry turned around and he and Ginny walked back towards the table, with him feeling more calmly than he thought he would. He caught Ron's eyes first, who cocked an eyebrow at him, clearly wondering what was going on. As far as Ron was concerned, Harry had never shown the slightest interest in his sister. And now Harry was all but molesting Ginny right before their very eyes. Harry avoided looking at Mr. Weasley, but he need not have worried. Mr. Weasley was smiling too like the rest of the family. Mrs. Weasley, on the other hand, seemed to be about near tears and ready to run and meet them.

The family all seemed to settle and began to take their respective places at the table, though truthfully, they were all unsure of Harry's actions. Ron made to take his accustomed seat, expecting Harry to follow him; they always sat together at meals on Mr. Weasley's right side. However Harry followed Ginny as she headed towards Mrs. Weasley's end of the table. Bill stopped short as he saw Harry about to take his usual place on Ginny's other side. He gave Harry a fleeting look, but Harry couldn't fathom the expression on Bill's face one way or the other.

Soon, they began to eat with Harry helping Ginny put food on her plate. Hermione and the brothers' wives were exchanging amused glances, all thinking the same thing: Harry was acting exactly like a man would the first time he had sex with a woman he truly fancied or the first time he had been given a sexual treat favored by all men, bar none.*

At some point during dinner – Ginny wasn't sure when – Harry's thigh bumped into hers. _Well, if he wasn't going to move his legs she certainly wasn't gonna move hers, G_inny thought, and since then their legs had been touching. Ginny seemed to need very little her right hand for eating, as well. Harry had been helpfully feeding her, even from his own spoon.

Across the table, Ron was goggling, wondering what in the world Harry was doing. It was weird seeing Harry on the other side of the table, unmindful of the sidelong glances Bill kept giving him, unmindful of anyone else at the table, in fact. Harry neither cared nor paid even a token attention to the talk surrounding him, his entire attention seemed to be focused on Ginny and Ginny alone.

It was just as Mrs. Weasley was serving treacle tart for desert when suddenly the alarms went off, signaling that someone was trying to breach the wards of the Burrow. Harry frowned and glanced back at the Weasleys' shed where the Ford was parked. It was still sitting quiet. He'd cast spells on it to detect if any of the Weasleys were in danger, even in mortal peril, as the old Ford and the family clock had done. Whatever had disturbed the wards, it wasn't threatening. He glanced towards Ron, who had stood up at the first blare of the alarms, alert, but Harry remained seated near Ginny. Ron raised his eyebrows expectantly at Harry. But Harry only nodded his head at Ron, as if saying: _Go ahead, you can take this one._ Ron, obviously annoyed, then turned to Bill. But Bill glanced at Harry, who was still sitting calmly in his chair, though leaning closer to Ginny now, an arm placed casually on the back of her chair. Bill then turned to Charlie and said, "Charlie, go with Ron. It's time you carry your weight around here," he said. Charlie didn't seem to mind, though. Harry could tell, being the brother who was most away from home, Charlie was just itching to get back at someone, anyone, for what happened to Ginny.

Fleur half-rose from her seat, ready to gather her children back into the house. She cast a nervous glance at Harry but he only made a small shake of his head and she settled back into her seat.

Charlie came up to Ron who threw Harry one final disgruntled look before the two headed towards the front yard to see what triggered the alarms. Not Muggles nor animals, to be sure - the Burrow had been warded against them. Nevertheless, Harry, with a quick squeeze on Ginny's thigh, stood up and followed after Ron. Bill stood up as well, walking quietly behind Harry. Harry stopped at the angle of the property where he had a clear view of both the front and the back part of the house. He watched Ron and Charlie walk up to the front gate, where the outline of a man tapping at the Invisible Shield that guarded the Burrow could be plainly seen. The intruder, however, would not be able to see anything or anyone inside the warded parts of the Burrow. Harry thought the man looked familiar, but couldn't see clearly in the wan light.

Bill, who was now standing next to Harry spoke then, but keeping his eyes on his two brothers. "Harry," he said, speaking so quietly that only the two of them could hear. "Ginny's very fragile right now. And I'm not just talking about her health. I hope for her sake and for everybody else's that what you're doing is not something borne out of some misguided sense of duty or obligation to this family. She's already been through enough."

Harry gave Bill a sidelong glance then turned his face back to Ron. "I've been in love with Ginny since sixth year," he said, a slight undercurrent of anger in his voice. "But I didn't want her to suffer the same fate as Sirius did. Or be a target soon after the war. I only stayed away all these years because she seemed to never run out of boyfriends."

"Since sixth year?" Bill spoke, frank surprise evident in his voice. "And here I thought you're the world's fastest draw."

Harry did not reply. He did not particularly appreciate anybody questioning his feelings for Ginny. Anyone could doubt anything about him, but not that, never that.

Before Bill could say anything more, Ron and Charlie reappeared with a young man tottering behind them carrying a bouquet of flowers so obscenely huge it looked like a funeral wreath. When they drew near, Ron was clutching his wand tightly, brows lowering. He kept throwing back dark looks at the man following behind, looking ready to hex the intruder. As they came nearer, Harry could see the man more clearly and recognized Philip Rawlings, Ginny's ex-boyfriend. Philip was disheveled. He had obviously encountered the nastier spells protecting the Burrow and looked positively the worse for it.

They all returned to the back garden, Philip looking nervously around. Not one gave him a welcoming smile. They were all resentful at the intrusion, and Harry suspected, that of the adults present, only Mrs. Weasley was not aware of Philip's cheating. Neither did Philip realize that Charlie, Ron, Bill, and Harry had positioned themselves in a semi-circle around him while George stood belligerently in front of him. Fleur, Angelina, and Audrey meanwhile had all gathered their children and herded them back inside the house.

For a long while, everyone stood there silently, Philip increasingly becoming nervous. Ginny looked uncertainly at Harry, who smiled at her reassuringly. He was waiting to see what the twat wanted.

Then Philip spotted Ginny standing beside her mum. Mrs. Weasley held on to Ginny so tightly she looked ready to Apparate her daughter at any sign of danger.

"Ginny!" Philip breathed a sigh of relief.

"What are you doing here, Philip?" Ginny said coldly.

Philip hesitated, nervously eyeing the disapproving glances of the Weasleys. Then he seemed to remember the flowers in his hands and his face brightened. "Ginny, these are for you," Philip said, offering the bouquet of flowers to Ginny, as if the gesture was enough to wipe away his offense.

"They're all wilted," George pointed out.

Philip looked down, bewildered, at the flowers. "I don't understand. I just bought them." He looked helplessly around, the flowers were fresh just minutes ago. He looked back at Ginny, but there was no help forthcoming from her side.

"What do you want?" George repeated Ginny's question belligerently. He would be the most angry at Philip, because it was through him that the two had met.

"I came – I came to talk to Ginny. Uhm, privately."

"Whatever you have to say to Ginny, you can say it in front of us. We have no secrets in the family," George said.

Philip watched George's bellicose face, gulped, then turned nervously back to Ginny. He had no recourse but to plead his case in front of her brothers.

"Look Ginny, I only just heard. I just arrived back in the country three days ago. I'm sorry – about the suspension, that is. I tried to talk to the Quidditch League, for them to reconsider their decision – "

"Hear that, Harry?" George cut Philip off. "It seems your name doesn't carry much weight as we thought it would, because apparently, this git's the one who's going to smooth everything over. Imagine that."

Philip looked appropriately ashamed.

"What do you want, Philip?" Ginny said.

"Look, can we just talk?"

"What is there to talk about? We're through."

"Ginny, look! You've got to hear me out!"

"Hear what out? Do you want to see the pictures again? I can get them for you and lay them all out on the table if you want," said Ginny, her voice rising in anger.

Harry began to fidget at Ginny's growing distress. What Bill said was true. When he returned to his office, the first thing he did was to request Ginny's medical files from her Healer who could hardly turn Harry's request down. And it was all there in the Healer's medical assessment of Ginny: Stress was to be avoided at all costs, given her unstable condition – health- and magic-wise.

Bill, however, had seen Harry react to Ginny's outburst, and spoke to head off Harry's anger. He had been exchanging glances with his dad since Philip arrived, conducting a family debate in silence. "Philip, where were you at the night of the Harpies party?" he said.

"Uhm, I don't remember," Philip said distractedly.

Harry expected the answer. Philip after all had also taken a drink of the Potion X. What he didn't expect was the look of guilt on Philip's face that appeared soon after.

"What are you hiding?" Harry said sharply, the air of anger tightly wound about him like a viper about to strike.

"What? What?" Philip cried, taken aback at the uncharacteristic look of anger on Potter's face. The Auror was famous for his coolness.

"What are you hiding?" Harry said, through gritted teeth.

"I'm not. I'm not hiding anything. Ginny!" Philip all but shrieked, shouting for help. But Harry moved to block his sight of Ginny. "What-Are-You-Hiding?"

"Harry, please." It was Mr. Weasley who spoke.

Harry quieted down, to a small degree, yielding to Mr. Weasley's authority as head of the family and the owner of the house.

"Philip, where did you go after you left the Harpies party?" Mr. Weasley spoke calmly but coldly.

"I don't know. Home, I guess," Philip said, a little too shiftily, Harry thought.

"And you don't remember anything after that?"

"No." Again, he reddened. Harry was desperate to read Philip's mind, but the man was looking anywhere but him.

Ginny, though, realized what her dad was doing and she cried out in alarm. "Dad!"

"I'm sorry, Ginny, but we have got to know. We have to find out. If there's a chance – if he's – "

_No_! Harry had already considered the possibility that Philip might be the father of Ginny's baby, but now that he was confronted with it, he found he simply couldn't accept the idea.

"Dad, please…"

Mr. Weasley looked directly at Ginny, sadness and pity in his eyes. "Ginny, if it were up to me, I wouldn't have you anything to do with this man. But if there's a chance, we need to find out. He's got a right – "

"What? What? What are you talking about?" Philip cried, watching the exchange between Ginny and her dad.

Mr. Weasley's normally kind face hardened as he turned back to Philip – and not just for the rude interruption. "Before I say anything, do you promise never to reveal to anyone what we're about to discuss tonight?" he said, his voice stern.

"I – I promise," Philip said uncertainly, though he had no idea what he was agreeing to, but felt he didn't have much choice.

Obviously, Mr. Weasley did not take his word for it. He turned to Harry. "Harry?"

Harry understood. He nodded stiffly, and made to move closer to Philip.

"What? What are you going to do?" Philip cried frantically again, stepping back away from Harry.

"Don't worry. If you're man enough, you can handle it," said Harry blandly, but there was no mistaking the anger in his voice. But Harry found he had to take a few minutes to calm himself down before he could safely cast a spell. There was real danger of him turning Philip into a pile of turd. Philip didn't see him do it. But one minute, Harry was standing there, and the next he had a wand in his hand. Then suddenly, without hearing Harry say a single spell, Philip felt a sensation, as if a wall of concrete was descending upon his head, almost like a physical burden, falling quite heavily, seeming to crush him, as the Compulsion Spell hit him.

"I promise! I promise!" Philip gasped.

Only then did Harry release his mental hold on Philip who visibly let out a breath as he stood up shaking. Harry placed his wand back in his pockets to prevent himself from accidentally hexing Philip.

"Dad…" Ginny made one last plea, her voice becoming heartbreakingly small. Harry glanced towards her, wanting to reassure her but Ginny had her head hung low.

"Philip, Ginny's team was not suspended from the league. The team voluntarily forfeited the games – "

"But why – "

"Someone – we don't know who – spiked all the food and drinks at the afterparty. Potion X. I'm sure you've heard of it," said Mr. Weasley, a note of derision in his voice. He looked Philip straight in the eye. "Ginny's with child."

For a whole minute, Philip only stared blankly at Mr. Weasley, as if unable to understand what Mr. Weasley had just said.

"What do you mean with child? How? With who?" Then Philip broke off, his eyes focusing far away as if he were seeing something anew. He looked at Ginny, his brows furrowing. Then his eyes grew round, as if seeing Ginny for the first time. "It's mine," he croaked. "The baby's mine! I'm the father!"

"Come again?" George said. "How? If you say you don't remember anything that night?"

But Philip was shaking his head. "No. No. I remember waking up the next day. I knew I slept with someone. I just couldn't remember with whom. Or how. My townhouse is under a Fidelius charm – it has been for generations. I don't remember coming home with anyone. And only Ginny can enter my flat."

"But I only went there once. To have dinner with your parents," Ginny said, casting an anxious glance at Harry.

"Besides, how can you say you slept with someone if you don't remember anything?" George put in.

"Well, a man can't have sex and not remember it, can he? I just know it. And no one else could have entered the house, except Ginny."

"Unless you came home with another woman," George said.

"Unless you invited them in," Charlie added.

"I'm telling you, it's Ginny! I just know it! Nothing else makes sense! The baby's mine! Ginny, that baby's mine!"

"Well, I don't believe it," George said, crossing his arms across his chest.

"I don't believe it, either," said Ron.

"Neither do I," said Percy.

"Me, too," said Charlie. "I don't believe Ginny would sleep with any man she doesn't love," he added, giving Harry a fleeting glance.

"In fact, I'd rather Ginny's baby's father's a troll than you. Anybody's preferable than you, in fact. Even Hagrid," said George.

Philip's face hardened as he took in each of the faces of the Weasley brothers. "Well, it's mine. I'm telling you it's mine!"

"I don't believe it either," said Harry quietly. Whatever the truth was, Ginny didn't need this moron in her life. "I'm sorry, dad," Harry said, addressing Mr. Weasley. "I just can't believe he's the father of Ginny's baby."

Ginny looked up gratefully at Harry and he gave her back a small, reassuring smile.

"You can't? Or you won't?" Philip said, spitting angrily in the face of such a wall of opposition. "If that baby is mine – and I assure you it is – then I have a right to it. By law – "

"Philip, we're not depriving you of anything," said Mr. Weasley, cutting him off, "but we have to make sure. We have to be certain. We can't decide anything based on your say-so."

"Actually, we don't have to. I don't mind that Ginny's baby remains fatherless," George added, refusing to give in a corner.

"I don't either," Charlie said.

"Well, I'm telling you it's mine!"

Philip and George glared at each other with such an intensity of hatred they were like two rabid dogs snarling at each other. It was obvious that George was not going to back down from his rejection of Philip.

Then Philip straightened up, his face hardening into vengeful resolve. He lifted a hand towards his chest. Harry thought at first that he was about to make an oath, like a boyscout. But then he began to pull something from inside his coat, a black cloth, Harry saw, and then several things happened at once. With a cry, Mr. Weasley stood up and lunged towards Philip. Mrs. Weasley, too, screamed a warning. Percy was on his feet as well, grabbing hold of his dad from behind, wrapping both arms around Mr. Weasley's chest. "Dad, no!" he cried. But Bill was quickest.

"Harry! Stop him!"

In a flash, Harry's wand was in his hand. And despite not knowing why he was doing it, he waved his wand and, in an instant, Philip disappeared right on the very spot, the black piece of cloth falling to the ground as if in slow motion.

For a long time, everyone was frozen silent, blankly staring at it. Mr. Weasley stared too at the black piece of cloth, breathing hard, with a shocked look on his face. Percy, himself chasing his own breath, had let go of his father.

"What-Just-Happened?" Ron said.

But Bill spoke urgently. "Harry, where did you send Phillip? He cannot be hurt."

"What?" Harry said, jarred to the present. He, too, had been staring at the cloth, which he now saw was a wizard's hat.

"Where did you send him? He cannot be hurt," Bill repeated, obviously agitated.

"He's not hurt," Harry said unconcernedly.

"Where'd you send him?" Bill insisted.

"In a remote island in the Pacific. Why?"

"He cannot be hurt, Harry." It was Percy who spoke this time.

"He's not. He won't be," Harry said and when the others seemed to be waiting for more explanation, he added. "He just won't be able to use magic until he made his way back to Britain. Until then, he'll be as Muggle as they come."

Then Bill turned to Ginny, her arms wrapped around herself. Mrs. Weasley's face was deathly white. "Are you okay, Ginny?" Ginny nodded.

"Will someone please tell me what the hell just happened?" George said, irritated.

"Arthur?" Mrs. Weasley said uncertainly.

Mr. Weasley looked up. "I'm sorry, Molly. I'm really sorry." Then he looked down at Philip's hat. "I'm sorry. This is all my fault," Mr. Weasley said, looking thoroughly heartsick. "I didn't know Philip was going to do that."

"Dad, none of us expected him to. Who would?" said Percy. "Philip's not even a pureblood; his mother's a half-blood. Who knew he would know that kind of stuff?"

"But his father is, and, an official representative of the Britsih wizarding government," Bill said. "They would be well-equipped in all British customs and traditions, including the arcane ones. And you're right, dad, if there's a chance Philip is really the father of Ginny's baby, then he has every right to know."

"Will somebody please tell me why I just sent a man halfway around the world?" Harry said quietly, but there was absolute authority in his voice quite difficult to ignore.

Bill and Percy looked at each other; Mr. Weasley still had his head down. It was Bill who spoke. "Harry, you know all about the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy, right?"

"Yeah. So?"

"Did you ever wonder why it had to be enacted?"

Harry shook his head impatiently at the seemingly obvious question. "Because the Muggles were persecuting us."

"But did you ever wonder why we never fought back against the Muggles? Why we just allowed them to hunt and persecute us? Hurt even our children?" Bill persisted. "We could have easily crushed them, make them forget even their own names, but why do you think we put up with all of it?"

Harry had no answer for him.

"Because we knew at the back of our minds that the Muggles were justified in their persecution of us."

Harry stood waiting for Bill to elaborate further, which the latter obliged with soon enough. "Have you heard of _Droit du seigneur?_" he asked.

Harry just looked blankly at Bill. He understood the words enough, but not their meaning. You couldn't be around Bill's family and not pick up a French word or two.

"_Jus primae noctis,_ Harry," Hermione said.

"The law of the first night?"** Harry asked. He'd seen the film Braveheart on the telly one time he was left alone at home at the Dursleys. "Thought it was a myth."

"It wasn't. Only Muggles were made to think that it was."

"Imagine a pureblood who is lord of the land," Bill said after a pause. "How difficult would it be for him to compel a Muggle to do his bidding — give up his land, submit his daughter or his bride to his overlord on the eve of her wedding? It was a power play, Harry, a way of imposing a wizard's superiority over the Muggles whom he viewed as little more than cattle in his land. And the _Prima Nocte,_ the law of the first night, where brides have to give up their virginity on the eve of their wedding to their overlords, was just another way for wizards to show their utter disdain for Muggles."

Harry frowned his head, trying to concentrate on what Bill was saying. He also felt angry and frustrated. Years in the wizarding world, and sometimes he still felt like a neophyte.

"How soon do you think before the Muggles realized that something was not right?" continued Bill. "They could never understand how overnight they seemed to have lost their lands, signing away the lands they've inherited from their ancestors, that have been in their family for generations. And the serfs? Witness their daughters subjected to such humilities. How do you wake up from such a nightmare? How do you deal with it? Such injustice naturally led to anger. And that's part of the reason why the Muggles rose up against us. The Statute of Secrecy was instituted as much for our protection as the Muggles'."

"What does it have to do with Philip?" said George impatiently.

Bill held a hand up and then continued speaking. "A few enlightened wizards on our side tried to offer protection as much as they could to Muggles. So they introduced the Père Presumptive law for Muggles as a defense against the Prima Nocte. It was the only defense against it. If a woman can show that she's already with child on the eve of her wedding then the groom could claim the child was his and the Prima Nocte could not be enforced, because no wizarding overlord would risk sleeping with a pregnant woman. In those days, there was no clear way of proving a child's paternity. If a Muggle gave birth to a magical baby, then it would be reasonable to assume the wizard overlord was the father, and the child could thereafter file a suit for paternity or claim for inheritance. It won't be much, but a wizard overlord with pureblood mania would hate having to acknowledge a child by a Muggleborn."

"Even so it was a very tricky defense," added Percy. "A woman could be beheaded for losing her virginity in the first place."

"But what has it got to do with what happened tonight?" Harry asked, exasperated. He was in no mood for a long-winded history lesson.

"Because not only Muggles, but wizarding families, too, had been victims of the Prima Nocte," Bill said. "In other words, anyone who's unlucky enough to be poor in those times was subject to the law."

But Harry shook his head, still not getting it.

"After the Muggle law was passed," Bill carried on, "how soon do you think the wizards were able to develop its magical counterpart?"

Harry felt suddenly cold, the idea forming in his head was unthinkable, unacceptable. "So what are you saying?" he said, his voice deathly quiet.

"Philip has just laid claim on Ginny and the baby," Bill finished. "He has bound them to him. His life now is tied to theirs. If you tried to separate them - particularly the baby from Philip - the baby and Ginny would die."

"He did WHAT?" George exclaimed.

"He doesn't even have to utter a spell," Percy added. "A wizard throwing his hat before a pregnant woman is just like a medieval knight throwing down his gauntlet to signify a challenge to a duel. The very act alone solidifies the magic."

"Was that what Philip was trying to do?!" Charlie roared. "I should have killed him!" And he smashed a fist into his palm.

Harry felt blood pounding in his ears. He tried to calm himself, staring fixedly at a point in the ground, trying to think. He looked up. "Bill, I sent him away. Do you think the magic came through?" he said desperately.

"I don't know how much of the magic he had cast has taken effect," Bill replied.

Harry ran his fingers through his hair, following the second thought that came through his head. "But wouldn't we know if there's been a change? If it has affected Ginny?" Harry persisted. "Ginny's already been under so much magical strain."

"I don't know. I can't say," Bill said, and his eyes involuntarily strayed down to Philip's hat on the ground. "It's one of the ancient blood magic…" he said, his voice trailing off.

Harry felt Hermione's gaze upon him. But he did not need to look up to know what she was thinking. Ancient blood magic. Wasn't he a living example of that? Until Voldemort touched him through Professor Quirrel, Voldemort did not know what the effect of her mother's sacrifice was going to have. Neither did he, Harry, for that matter.

"Ginny, come here," Harry said, turning to her. Mrs. Weasley reluctantly let go her hold of her daughter.

Ginny shambled towards Harry, clutching tightly the Menat necklace under her top.

Harry met her halfway. "How do you feel?" he asked her gently.

"Fine." They exchanged a fleeting glance. Ginny felt so many mix of emotions – anger, uncertainty, fear – that she felt as if she was walking in a dream. Everything that was being said around her just seemed like noisy insects buzzing around her head.

Harry waved his wand over her several times, checking and rechecking. He called to Bill, wanting a second opinion. But Bill only shook his head.

"I can't do Magical Sensing, Harry. I can only check wards," he said. And when Harry turned to Hermione, seemingly to ask her opinion as well he added,"None of us can."

"I can't detect any changes. I can't read anything," Harry said, not adding the fact that all he could feel was the powerful Shield of the Menat necklace, like a thick wall of pure concrete around Ginny. "What if the spell failed to come through? If something somehow was blocking it."

"We can't be sure. We can't gamble with Ginny's life," Percy said.

"What if Philip goes away? Disappears for good?" Harry said after a pause.

"Harry!" Hermione's tone was reproachful.

"I'm not a saint, Hermione," Harry said, exasperated. "I have my limits."

"It's not that easy, Harry. It doesn't work that way," Bill said. "If you hurt Philip, you'll hurt Ginny, too. The magic of the Peré Presumptive spell is insidious. It takes a long time. Yes, there are times when the bond between the man and the woman is particularly strong, then the spell works fast and the woman dies in a matter of months, weeks. But normally it takes time. Eventually the magic will slowly drain her. The overlord who claims a woman already spoken for often end up with nothing."

"It was a bitter time in history," said Percy. "Many times such a woman's death was avenged so bitterly, and often to the last breath, that the practice of Prima Nocte grew out of popularity. That's why I had to stop Dad. If Philip's spell has already taken effect, then hurting Philip would only lead to Ginny's death."

Mrs. Weasley let out a strangled sob. Hermione came to her and placed an arm on her shoulders.

"What I don't understand is why we have to let Philip know in the first place," George said angrily.

"And there was never a need to," Harry agreed, unable to keep the tone of resentment in his voice. "I was perfectly willing to accept the baby as my own."

"Because as Philip said, by law he has a right," Bill said patiently. "If it turns out that he really is the father of Ginny's baby and we hid that fact from him, then he could easily take the baby away from Ginny and she would never see it again."

"Why? How? Doesn't the mother have a right to the child?" Charlie said.

"In the wizarding world, the father has more right to the child than the mother," said Percy.

"But that's crazy!" Charlie again exclaimed.

"Surely that can't be legal?" said Harry.

"Harry, you're forgetting that women's lib is a 20th century concept," said Hermione. "And only in the Muggle world. Women didn't always have rights or much freedom."

"By wizarding law, Philip has more right to the baby than Ginny," Bill added.

"That's ridiculous!" said Harry.

"Call it what you want, Harry. But the enabling laws protecting a father's right to an unborn child are still in place."

"What if we make a petition? To have the law repealed?"

"It's not that simple. Laws are not retroactive. And you'll find that you'll have difficulty finding the necessary votes to repeal the law. And even if you managed to have such a law passed, Philip would still have full rights to the baby. And if he makes such a petition, it's likely that he would win."

"So what do we do now?" Harry asked, for once feeling helpless.

"We wait. Until Ginny has given birth, at least. Until we know for sure who the father of Ginny's baby is."

"If it's not Philip?"

"Then no harm done. To Ginny and the baby." And here Bill smiled, so dangerously that the sheen of the wolf's blood seemed to show on his face. What would happen to Philip seemed to be more apparent in Bill not mentioning it.

"And if he is?"

"If he chooses to keep the baby, then there's nothing we can do about it," Bill conceded, the grimness in his manner remaining. "And if we're lucky, if he doesn't force the issue, he could let Ginny go, if she wishes. Still, Ginny would have to be prepared to choose between you and the baby. Because Philip could make it so that she would never have access to the baby."

"No, the baby's mine!" Ginny cried suddenly, holding tightly her belly. The cry was wrenched from her lips even before she knew what she was doing, so suddenly that she even surprised herself.

"Ginny, I promise you it won't come to that," Harry tried to reassure her.

"Harry, don't go making Ginny promises you can't keep," Bill said sharply. "You're not a father yet. There's a strong bond between parent and child that's completely unbreakable, even after death. There are some magic that are greater, more powerful, even than you. Ginny must be prepared to either give up the baby…or you."

For some reason the statement felt like a question that hung suspended in the air. Everyone fell quiet, as if waiting for Ginny's reply, including Harry. But Ginny remained silent and merely clasped her hands and arms more tightly around her waist. Harry started to feel a heaviness in his chest, his jaw clenching tight.

Off to the side, Hermione's heart broke as she watched Harry. The Dursleys had treated him horribly all throughout his childhood. Harry grew up unloved, unwanted, feeling utter rejection every day of his young life. She could only imagine what Ginny's silence would mean to him.

"I think I should leave now," Harry said eventually into the silence and started to walk away.

"You promised," Ginny's cry was a whisper, but the pain in her voice still rent the night. "You promised you would never leave me again."

Harry stopped short. An awkward silence ensued. One by one, the family left to go back into the house, leaving Ginny and Harry alone. Harry felt Ginny shift closer to him, but he did not turn to look back.

"Harry," she spoke, his name a plea, and then she hugged him from the back.

"Ginny. The spell," Harry's tone itself was pleading. The Père Presumptive spell no longer allowed them such liberties, but Ginny ignored him.

"I can't. I can't give up the baby, not when I just learned I want it now," she said as she cried into his back, her tears dampening his clothes. "Please, please, Harry, don't make me choose right now. I can't do it."

Harry took a deep sigh, realizing he was being ridiculous. Didn't Ginny just say mere hours ago that she loved him? He turned around and hugged her back. What did he have all this power for if he couldn't find a way around this conundrum?

"I'm sorry. You're right. I won't leave you again," he said, gently brushing the hair away from her face. "And don't worry, we'll find a way."

AN:

*Sorry for this bit. Just been rereading Ice and Fire series (bec HBO is airing its tv adaptation). I was just at the part where Tyrion Lannister says his preferred way of dying when I was writing this chap, so this goes in. ;D

**tho it wasn't in their subject list, apparently Hogwarts students speak latin well. Remember quid agis? So im thinking harry would immediately understand latin.


	11. Chapter 11

HARRY POTTER AND THE NECKLACE OF MENAT

Chapter 11

Harry and Ginny did not have much chance to talk that night; Ginny had to turn in early. But Harry stayed for an hour more to oversee Bill and Charlie as the two checked and reinforced the Burrow's wards. He was too preoccupied with his own thoughts to do more than oversee what they were doing. They often made such rechecks as a security measure; more so when something had disturbed the wards.

By the time he returned back home to Grimmauld, Ron and Hermione had already retired to their rooms. Harry himself went directly to his own room but found he could not sleep. In the end, he decided to Apparate back to the Burrow and set up his camping tent directly in front of Ginny's window. The house already lay dark and quiet and he moved with equal silence. He left long before the sun rose, without letting anyone inside the house know that he had spent the night there at all.

He did not head towards the Ministry, though. When the Wigtown Wanderers kept refusing his overtures for a meeting, Harry made a few inquiries - there were very few spheres in the wizarding world that turn their doors to his face and he got not only the venues, but also the time of the Wanderers' practice schedules. The Wanderers thought, too, that they would be clever with the Ministry and held their practices in the wee hours of the morning. But of course, Aurors keep all manner of hours and so Harry Apparated to one of the Wigtown's practice Quidditch pitches in Eskdalemuir, several miles northwest of the Wanderers' homecourt.

The Wigtown's protective wards were so laughably weak that he was able to puncture through it quite easily and Transfigure into a blackbird mere seconds after his Apparation inside the field. The practice had already started, but Harry made his usual security checks.

The players flew like red birds against the grey sky, dull and bereft of clouds with the onset of autumn; the constant flashes of the photographer's lens on the ground the obvious reason why the Wanderers were wearing their uniforms for practice – doubtless, the pictures would be featured in the team's beefy calendar come yearend. But the Wigtown Wanderers had none of the instinctive and elegant formation of birds. Instead, each player of the team seemed to move to a syncopated beat all his own, darting in and out of the sky with seemingly no pattern nor design nor purpose to his movements. The players seemed more concerned with avoiding getting hit by a Bludger than actually scoring a goal. One Chaser in particular whom Harry recognized as Cundick kept haranguing the Beaters if the Bludger flew so much as a meter near him, frequently making angry gestures towards his silky head of artificially highlighted blond hair.

None of the players nor any of the staff on the grounds noticed the little blackbird hovering in the Quidditch pitch where they had been practicing - the bird sometimes flying here or there, sometimes sitting perched on the edge of the fabric roof protecting the grandstand, but never ever leaving the Quidditch pitch.

At one point, Cundick was almost hit by a Bludger. He wheeled around towards the offending Beater, shouted angrily, and then flew down in an obvious tiff and so the practice game for the day ended. The team's officials down on the grounds were obviously dismayed that the practice had been cut short, but the other players didn't seem to mind and flew down after Cundick. Then they all started walking back to the players' dugout under the stands. Harry Disillusioned himself immediately from his Transfigured form and followed suit.

"I just had my hair done in Italy! In Italy! Does anybody have any idea how much it costs?" Cundick kept shouting to no one in particular as the team filed into the locker room, the team assistant shutting the door close as the last player entered the room. Then the players started to remove their clothes to take a shower.

Harry suddenly felt the need to make his appearance known. "Hello," he said, ending the Disillusionment spell that hid his presence from the men. He was seated on one of the long, low benches in the room, his arms crossed casually across his stomach and his long legs stretched out in front of him. The players, in varying states of undress, all jumped a foot in the air. Cundick however, made a curious attempt to cover himself, closing his knees together and placing an arm across his exposed chest and a hand in front of his crotch. But when he realized that the others well all staring at him, he immediately straightened up and affected a manlier stance.

"Mr. Potter! What are you doing here?" Cundick cried angrily in an attempt to cover his embarrassment.

Harry raised his eyebrows. "I believe you've been sent several official Ministry requests for a meeting," he said in a tone of voice that made it clear he was in no mood for pointless chatter, his temper these days so hairline thin it would be easy to lash out at anyone at the merest provocation.

"Look, we told you, we have nothing to do with what happened at the Harpies victory party," said one of the Parkin players nervously. There were three Parkins on the team. The one who spoke still had his Keeper gloves on, which would make him the Parkin who distributed the Potion X-spiked drinks at the party. "We've never even played them. We have no reason to sabotage them."

"It's not why I wanted to speak with you," said Harry calmly. "I just wanted to know where you got the Potion X you used in your own party. And don't even bother denying it, we have Veritaserum testimony of you giving them to your guests."

"You can't hold against us something that happened almost a year ago!" Cundick said.

"And we don't know anything about illegal potions either," another player said.

More protestations of innocence and defiance would have come but Harry quelled them all with a look. "We can either do this the long way or you can just tell me who supplied you the potion."

The assistant who all this time had been watching warily at the sidelines, spoke, but only after casting a nervous glance at the players. "They don't have a supplier, Mr. Potter. They aren't regular users. It was just that one time."

"Yeah, we would have been banned from Quidditch if we were," Cundick said, nodding his head, as if only now remembering.

"So you got them from Knockturn Alley?" Harry said, furrowing his eyebrows. He didn't care how hard an illegal Potions user these players were. But where else would casual Potions users pick up the drugs? Harry was dismayed, nonetheless. Most of the Potions runners in Knockturn Alley were fly-by-nighters, day-earners, selling Potions so they could get a free hit themselves. So small time the Ministry do not even bother trying to arrest them.

Cundick, the Parkin Keeper, and the assistant all looked at each other guiltily.

"But you do remember the person who sold you the Potion X?" Harry asked.

"Well, we didn't use names. We're not that stupid," said Cundick.

The assistant eyed Cundick with an expression that said 'Could've fooled me' but then comported himself better when he saw Harry looking at him.

Harry turned to Parkin. "But you remember his face?"

"Not really. It's a bit dark."

"But you do remember picking up the Potions?" Harry said, throwing the question at the three guilty faces who all nodded dumbly. "Then I would need your memories of the night you bought the Potion. That's all I want."

"You will not use it against us?" Keeper-Parkin asked, with obvious relief.

"No. If I wanted to, I could easily file a case against all of you for mere possession, not to mention illegal use and distribution."

All the players looked at Harry aghast. But Cundick spoke up. "So you're not trying to sabotage our game with the Cannons? We know your best mate's a huge Cannons supporter."

Harry barely prevented himself from rudely staring at the ceiling. He pulled a deep breath instead. "The memories?" he prompted.

"Uhm, we don't really know how to extract memories," the assistant said uncertainly.

"It doesn't matter. I'll do it myself," Harry said. He uncrossed his arms and stood up, then walked over to the three players to retrieve their memories. When it was Cundick's turn, however, there was a rapt look upon the player's face as he lifted his face up to Harry, eyes closed, lips parted slightly. He seemed to have trouble breathing. Harry made short work of that one.

Harry immediately left and headed to the Ministry where he viewed the memories in the Pensieve unearthed and left forgotten in the bowels of the Ministry. Before Harry joined the Auror Department, nobody had any idea what it was used for. Even now, few knew of its existence – only the most trusted of the Ministry employees could use the magical object and only with Kingsley's or top-tiered Aurors' consent (so in total, numbering three).

Harry did not recognize the drug runner who sold the Potion X to the Wigtown Wanderers. He was also wearing a hood which would make it more difficult to case Knockturn Alley for the suspect. Then Harry called in the other members of his team to get a good look at the suspect, hoping they could identify the dealer. But not one of them could.

"Maybe we should put up posters asking anyone for information about the man," Gavin said in the meeting that followed afterwards.

"That would broadcast our involvement or the Ministry's at least," Matt, another member of the team said. "Only two cases are big enough to warrant such level of interest: the Galina case and the Harpies case. Both Auror cases."

"Besides, the man is not a suspect yet," Gibbons said. "We don't know if he had anything to do with the Harpies poisoning. It would be against the law to even name him as a person of interest in this case unless we have a clear basis for declaring him one. We don't have anything that would tie him to the Harpies case."

"We could haul him in for Illegal Potions Trade for the Wanderers party," Gavin said.

"And then what?" said Gibbons a bit angrily. He hated being contradicted. "He'll pay a fine and after spending the maximum six months jail time for the offense he could easily walk away. In the meantime, any two-bit solicitor he would hire could file a case against us, preventing us from forcing him to give testimony if there's no formal case filed against him. What then?"

Gavin shrugged. "We could give him Veritaserum."

"Yes we could. But only if he agrees to it. Under the current government, it is already illegal to force someone to take Veritaserum. Something about 'right against self-incrimination' or whatever Ms. Hermione Granger wrote in the damned law."

" – for which our esteemed colleague here, Mr. Potter, gave his staunch support," Ray helpfully put in.

"My apologies," Gibbons said, glancing at Harry, though not at all looking sorry. "What I'm saying is, unless Potter does his hocus-pocus thing – which would have to be completely under the table, mind - we won't get anything from the suspect," Gibbons continued. "Remember the memorandum the Minister attached to this case: completely by the book - "

Harry was watching all these quietly. He didn't even mind Gibbons, he was used to the elder Auror. He'd already thought of all the possibilities, all the avenues of investigation through. The Penseive reviews did not turn anything significant. But Harry did not view it as a wasted exercise. You never know if you might have overlooked one small factor. He was determined to go through this case with a fine-toothed comb. That was the only way to solve this case. He leaned forward and placed both arms on the desk, clasping his hands together. "Any other inputs?"

"If this Wanderers runner was the one responsible for the Harpies fiasco, he'd be on the lookout for reports in the papers," Matt spoke directly to Harry. "He'd know that you're back now and likely working on the case. He would have gone underground. I know I would."

Harry turned his face towards the part of the wall pretending to be a window where cottony clouds scudded eastward against a background of crisp, blue sky. There was one more concern at the back of his mind. George. He'd become a bit of a wild card since Fred's death, easy to take offense and quick to strike for any slight, real or imagined. If he got wind that Harry was zeroing in on a suspect and George chanced upon that suspect first, it wasn't too hard to guess what George would likely do.

Harry turned to Gavin. "You and Ray keep an eye on Knockturn Alley. I don't have to tell you to go undercover, do I?"

"'Course," said Gavin cheerfully.

"I'll be joining the search from time to time," Harry added. He then turned to Matt. "Did you get the lab report on the Potion X that I requested?"

"Yes." Matt then pushed a folder towards Harry who then glanced down at the summary report. The amount of mallowsweet, belladonna, and ashwinder eggs had been increased, in proportions which no one with a modicum of Potions knowledge would have foolishly committed. He inwardly whistled. The Ashwinder eggs alone cost a pretty knut. No mistake. This was done deliberately. By whom and for what purpose, he had yet to find out.

He looked up and once again turned to his men. "How about the statements from the families and friends of the deceased?" The MLES managed only to get interviews from a few of the dead Harpies victims' families and friends, a huge lapse which they were now only trying to make up for.

Matt looked first at Gavin, with whom he was given the assignment. "Several."

"Problems?" Harry asked.

"Not really," said Matt. "We just have a lot of time to make up for."

"And opportunities," piped in Ray. "One of the victims was an American tourist. Her family has already collected the body and returned to the US. So we didn't get any statements from them."

"It's not our fault," Matt said hurriedly. He didn't want to appear slacking on the job. "The case was still with the MLES then, but we're working on it."

"Kimberly Wales," Harry said, reading the name of the American victim.

"Tourist. A fan, I think," Matt said. "Here barely a couple of weeks when she attended the party. Brought there by one of the players. But she's been cleared to attend weeks before."

"There's no one in that party whose identity wasn't cleared weeks before," Harry said flatly. "That's not the issue. Someone managed to still spike all the food and drinks," he added. "What about her family?"

"Muggles."

Harry neither liked neat nor convenient endings. "We need to go there and get statements from them," he said after a pause. "Ray and Gibbons." The elder Auror would keep Ray in check. "Two weeks enough?" he said, looking at the two Aurors. Ray was grinning from ear to ear as if Christmas had come early. "Ten days, then," Harry said firmly, " - including weekends. But not now. It's not a priority."

"Killjoy," Ray muttered under his breath. Harry ignored it.

Harry turned back down to the files in front of him again and saw more missing background files. "There's two more here," he murmured.

"We have every bit of information for every victim except for three," Gibbons admitted.

"One of the guards. The one you sent us to check again," said Gavin. "Had no family. Lived alone. Nobody even claimed his body at St. Mungo's so the Ministry itself made his funeral arrangements."

"What about his neighbors? Colleagues?"

"Always kept to himself, kept his head down. Nothing came up. Just an ordinary bloke. Unlucky enough to die."

"Came home to work every morning. Brought his own food. Went home on the clock." Matt added. "No red flags."

Harry shook his head. "No. Sometimes no-red-flags _is _a red flag. I want you to go back and interview anybody who knew him."

"We'll work on it, Harry," volunteered Matt, looking at Gavin who nodded.

Harry looked down at the name of the third dead victim. The chief caterer. Muggle-born. Husband missing since the war. Two children. A boy and a girl who now lived with their grandparents. Ominous that when he looked further down for contact information, the name and address given was Harpies management.

He looked up from the file and addressed the room. "And the caterer?"

"Unless you want to curse a Muggle, you can't go near her parents," Ray said.

"Why?"

"Hates us, the father does," Ray shrugged. "Blames us for the death of his daughter."

"Has no one tried to talk to him yet?"

"Tried, yes. But as I've said, he doesn't want to have anything to do with us. Not the most cooperative of all witnesses."

"Where does he live, does anybody know?"

"Withcall in Lincolnshire," Matt said.

Harry waved his hand and a holographic map of England appeared in front of him. He scanned the map for Lincolshire and quickly located Withcall.

"Who needs Muggle technology when we have Harry, eh?" Ray nudged Gavin beside him who chuckled as well.

"Okay," Harry said, then turned to Ray. "We'll talk to him but after we have the Wanderers' runner. We'll use a Ministry car."

"What, are we going to drive there?" Ray asked incredulously as if Harry suggested they fly to the moon or do something similarly ridiculous. Seriously, wizards had become too lazy.

"Well, we can't just walk right in the middle of a farming village without an obvious means of transport, can we?" Harry pointed out.

"But you can do that magic-ahead thing. You know, when you send a Shield or spell ahead of you when you Apparate or Portkey somewhere. I've seen you do it. You can just send an anti-Muggle charm."

Harry raised an impatient eyebrow. He had not made it a secret that he disliked performing magic on Muggles unless it was necessary. But his reputation for being slow to anger made the people around him – including some of his colleagues - develop a tendency to act flippant around him. But he had no patience for such foolishness now. "We either go by car or we walk."

He adjourned the meeting then and retrieved the Pensieve to be taken back to his office. It was just for show. Where Harry was actually keeping the Pensieve these days was a secret only known to a few.

He went back to his office and found Ron poring over some old history books. Harry read upside down the title of one of the books, Ancient Marriage Customs.

Ron looked up at Harry and raised his eyebrows. Years of friendship and the two best friends had learned to communicate with simple gestures and facial expressions. So Ron, in effect, was asking Harry, _Is there something you want to tell me?_

"The Cannons have zero chance their first game next season," Harry said seriously.

Ron made a disgruntled face. "Ass," he mumbled, but Harry only grinned as he walked over to his desk and stowed away the Pensieve.

"I won't be dining home tonight," he said. "Will you please tell Kreacher?"

"Ah, no, Harry," said Ron with a frantic expression on his face, "he'll burn the food again!"

"Alright, you can just tell him that I'll be doing fieldwork tonight. Ask him to go to Andromeda's after dinner and stay there for the night."

"Lying to your house-elf," said Ron airily, leaning back in his chair and clasping his hands behind his head as he stretched his legs on his desk. "Wonder how that's going to go down in the end."

Harry only shrugged his shoulders. He took some fresh clothes he kept stashed in the tall cabinet in the room. He was going to shower and change in the Aurors' bathroom.

Ron cocked his eyebrows. "Going somewhere?"

Harry grinned hugely back at Ron. "Home," he said, then left the room.

After having showered and dressed, Harry went down to the Magical Transportation Offices at Level Six and requested a blanket Floo Clearance for himself so that he could immediately connect any fireplace to the Burrow. As a top-level Auror with the Ministry's highest security clearance, he was entitled to such. But he wouldn't deny that he was doing so for purely selfish reasons. He wanted to be able to get to the Burrow the quickest way possible. Ginny often needed to see her Healer, and Harry planned to accompany her at all her scheduled Healing appointments.

He then left the Ministry to Apparate to the Burrow. Soon as he entered the Burrow's wards, he instinctively looked up, feeling eyes upon him. Ginny was standing, waiting for him in the balcony on the third floor of the house, a hand around a wooden post holding up the roof, looking intently down at him. Harry frowned. With the coming of autumn, there was a biting chill to the air, In a thrice he Transfigured into a bird and flew directly towards her and transformed back in front of her.

Ginny laughed delightedly. But Harry produced the warmest fur cloak he could conjure and wrapped it around her. "It's cold," he said.

"No, it's not," Ginny said, and she pointed to the corner of the balcony where a dragon's tooth was set to stand, dragon's breath fire blazing.

"Oh," Harry said. "Then you don't need this." And he made to remove the fur cloak but Ginny grabbed hold of the cloak by her shoulders.

"No, I'll keep it. This is your first gift to me."

"Ehrm." Harry scratched the back of his neck, reddening.

Ginny eyed him suspiciously. "What?"

"Nothing." Harry was never going to admit that he often sent Ginny gifts through mail as a Quidditch fan, nothing extravagant that it would draw attention – just pillows, t-shirts, and stuff toys, or sometimes really cheesy stuff he could think of. Her gifts still go through the Ministry, through Ron, in fact, and it was very easy for him to slip in his own gifts to her.

"Ginny?" Mrs. Weasley's voice echoed a floor below. "I heard voices. Is someone with you up there?"

"It's Harry, mum!" Ginny called out.

Soon they heard hurried footsteps drawing nearer and Mrs. Weasley emerged from inside the room, which was Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's own bedroom. "Harry! Where did you come from? I didn't hear you come in."

"Ehrm, I just arrived now," Harry said, feeling guilty at having been caught alone with Ginny, though they were not doing anything wrong.

"He flew," Ginny said proudly, beaming up at Harry.

"Flew?" Mrs. Weasley said, confused, and then the realization caught up with her. "Oh," she said, rather disappointed. She herself had seldom seen Harry Transfigure into anything, but her children had all raved about it.

"Have you eaten?" Ginny asked, turning to Harry.

"No," Harry said truthfully. "You?"

Ginny shook her head no. "I was waiting for you."

"But you don't know if I'm coming over!" Harry said appalled. "What if I was held up? Or I couldn't come?"

"You won't. I just know."

"Are you hungry?" Harry asked her in turn.

"I said to mum just a minute ago that I wasn't. But now that you're here, I am."

"You should have told me!" Mrs. Weasley chastised. "It's bad for the baby!" And she left and hurried down the stairs to prepare dinner.

Harry shook his head at Ginny. "You're as bad as Freddie, you know? C'mon," he said, taking Ginny's arm to follow Mrs. Weasley down the stairs. But Ginny refused to move.

"Can't we fly down?" she said.

"What? On a broomstick?" Harry asked confusedly. He made to Summon a broomstick from the shed, but Ginny held his arm back.

"Can't you do one of your special magic?" she said, almost in a whisper.

Harry stared at her hopeful face. Many people had seen him perform unusual magic, but not Ginny. He stood for a while, thinking. What he did, often he did in the course of his work. He'd never really performed unusual magic on a mere whim. He tried to think what magic he could do. Lately, he'd been practicing turning parts of his body into fire, hoping he could change into a fireball as Fr. Lockefeer had done. So far, he'd been successful only in changing his fingers. But Harry didn't think it would serve his purpose now.

Then an idea came to him. He grinned down at her then scooped her up in his arms, lifting her in one smooth movement. Ginny wrapped her arms around his neck and looked up his face, waiting patiently. Then huge white wings emerged behind his back. He looked like a dark-haired, green-eyed angel, Ginny's own private angel. Ginny was smiling fully now. Harry flapped his wings tentatively and slowly lifted the two of them up, folding his wings easily as he carried himself and Ginny both through the open balcony out into the open air. Ginny still had on the fur cloak; she would not be cold. They made one lap around the Burrow and then he slowly flew them down.

They landed lightly right in front of the kitchen door. Mrs. Weasley was standing in front of the stove, stirring a pot of stew. She kept looking anxiously up at the ceiling, her eyes seemed to be trying to bore through the wooden floors.

Harry laid Ginny gently down and the movement caught Mrs. Weasley's attention. She turned to them, surprised.

"How did you get there?" she asked worriedly as she opened the door to them, looking reproachfully at Harry. "Ginny can't Apparate anywhere, Harry. She's not even allowed to use a Portkey."

"We flew down, mum," Ginny said.

"Flew? How?" and then as she searched for a broomstick in Harry's hands, she saw the two peaks of white wings behind Harry's back that he hadn't yet removed.

"Harry, what are those?" as she watched the wings shrink and disappear behind Harry's back.

"They're called wings, mum," Ginny said with a smirk. She tugged Harry's hand, "C'mon Harry, I'm famished." Harry followed her inside the kitchen sheepishly.

Ginny sat Harry down as Mrs. Weasley prepared to set the table. Mrs. Weasley had just retrieved a stack of plates from the cupboard when she turned around and saw Ginny sitting on Harry's lap, arms around his neck.

"Ginny!" she cried, almost dropping the plates. "The Spell!"

Harry almost threw Ginny off his lap but caught Ginny round the waist just in time. He had not completely forgotten, but he wasn't fully certain of the rules, what could and could not be done.

Ginny however began to glower. "I heard Bill," she said angrily. "He said if the bond between a man and a woman is particularly strong, then the Spell would work quickly. Following that logic, then I have decades, even centuries before the Spell could take effect."

"Ginny, this is no joking matter!"

"Who says I'm joking? I want Harry!"

Mrs. Weasley closed her eyes as she tried to calm herself. When she opened them again, there were tears unfallen. She looked imploringly at her willful daughter. "Ginny, please, for once just try and stay alive for us, will you?"

That quietened Ginny at once; she and Harry felt as if they had both been slapped in the face, not realizing the fear Mrs. Weasley had been suffering through. It was easy to be young and carefree with no thought to the consequences of one's actions. Harry, in particular, felt the guilt acutely. He was supposed to be the man, he should be strong enough to curb Ginny's passionate streak, especially when it was her and her unborn child's lives on the line.

No one spoke about the matter anymore after that. It was thus a subdued dinner table that Mr. Weasley came upon when he arrived home from work, with Harry and Ginny formally seated across each other from the table. The topic at dinner was limited to Harry's work, where he was constrained to answer no matter how awkward and awful he felt. Ginny kept her silence.

After dinner however, they were allowed to go into the front porch to talk. For some time Harry and Ginny just sat quietly on the bench outside, with the sounds of nocturnal animals singing their courtship songs in seeming mockery of them.

Annoyed, Ginny spoke. "The Healer said I no longer have to come every three days for my check-ups now. But he still wants me to come in every week."

"Does he know about the necklace?" Harry said, grateful for the safe topic.

"Yes. Hermione bound him with a wizards' oath. She actually threatened him that she'll sic you on him if word leaks out about the necklace. But she didn't need to. He's been mum's Healer for years. He even vouched for Ron's supposed illness in the war, you know, spattergroit. So he had to go underground when the Death Eaters found out Ron was actually with you. Still, Hermione wanted to make sure. I'm too dependent on the necklace now."

As often happened when the war was mentioned, Harry fell silent. There were simply too many memories, too painful and guilt-ridden that she knew haunted him even to this day. Ginny realized her mistake too late and she turned her face towards Harry, watching for his reaction. With the meager light coming from inside the house, she saw him return her gaze with a small, sad smile.

Ginny could not say sorry aloud. Harry simply did not talk about the war. So she expressed her remorse the only way she knew how. She slowly inched her way closer to him. "Gin," he pleaded. But Ginny only snuggled further into him. He sighed helplessly.

They then spent the rest of the night just talking. Ginny understood why Harry had to hide his feelings for her while Voldemort was still alive. But then they got to talking about the time after the war and she learned of the many missed opportunities they had had to be together, both of them acting at cross-purposes with each other. How mistaken she'd been for being jealous of Cho Chang after the war. The last time Harry saw her was at St. Mungo's. Cho had been badly injured in the Battle of Hogwarts — Harry thought she'd never walk again. And so when he saw her up and about in the Ministry, he felt so happy he invited her to lunch. But that was all. He had no intention of going back to his ex-girlfriend. He was already in love with Ginny by then. When she heard this, Ginny hung her head low and cried silently, regretting the lost years.

She cried for a long time. Harry wanted to give her comfort, but a simple touch or a simple kiss had now become, too, an illicit joy too dangerous for them to even try.

After a while, Ginny subsided. She looked out towards the borders of the Burrow, where the clear, starlit autumn sky kissed the dark skyline of trees. "Do you think we're fighting fate by being together?" she said, and her voice was as far away as her gaze. "That if it took us this long to be together, that perhaps we shouldn't?"

Harry was definite. "Three months ago, I would have thought so, Ginny, but not anymore." Ginny turned back to him and saw the firm look on his face. She moved even closer now, and then leaned her head back on his shoulder. Harry did not protest but instead caressed her hair back. "But things can't always be perfect," he said, after a while. "They never are. We'll just have to pass through this."

"It's not guaranteed, you know, a happy ending," Ginny said.

Harry did not immediately reply. He would seriously be resentful if, after all of his sacrifices, he ended up with nothing. And he had a very specific definition of nothing in this case – Ginny absent from his life. "I don't think I came back from the Forbidden Forest to end up without you," he said.

Ginny lifted her face up to him and Harry returned her gaze with a steady look.

"We fight fate then," said Ginny, after a while.

"We fight," Harry affirmed.

And since then, Harry dropped by the Burrow almost every day. Often he would join Ginny and Mrs. Weasley for lunch, at night if he couldn't make it. The other members of the family often joined them. Harry rather suspected they were doing so to make sure that he and Ginny did not misbehave.

The elder Weasleys were equally torn between apprehension and joy at Harry's constant visits to the Burrow. But Ginny had set her foot down on the matter: if Harry would not be allowed to visit her at the Burrow, then she'd pack up her bags and move into Grimmauld and sleep in Harry's bed. After that, there were no more protests against Harry's visits.

Though louder by his silence it seemed to everyone how Harry had offered no opinion on the subject of Ginny sleeping with him in his bed.


	12. Chapter 12

HARRY POTTER AND THE NECKLACE OF MENAT

Chapter 12

A black cat sat on the shingled roof of an establishment in Knockturn Alley. From its perch it watched the people walking about in the streets below unseen.

Or so it thought.

Out of nowhere, there was a flash of red light and the cat dropped, insensate, on the pavement below, crashing with a loud clatter as it hit several garbage bins. A hag came shuffling forward, a huge, hairy mole prominent on her long, beaked nose, sagging with age. She was about to stoop and pick up the cat when a huge black dog suddenly appeared in front of her, standing between her and the cat, a low growl rumbling deep in its throat.

Startled, the hag shouted. "Git out of my way, ye mangy cur, if ye don' wanta join 'lil kitty hir as my dinner!"

But the dog refused to move, continuing to growl. The hag then cackled as if at a private joke, leaning back her head, showing several of her teeth missing. The dog's hackles grew even higher, snarling and baring its fangs fully.

The hag pulled out her wand, crooked and filthy like her, and pointed it at the snarling dog. She lifted her wand arm and was about to bring it down to cast a spell when….

"If I were you I'd put that wand down."

She wheeled around and saw a tall, gaunt warlock standing off to the side, dark of skin and dark of eyes. She had been certain she was alone in this part of Knockturn Alley minutes before.

"Who ar' ye?" she demanded.

"Nobody. But I know you, hag," the man spoke, rooting her to the spot with his intense gaze. His eyes strayed down to the black dog and the still unconscious cat. He turned back to the hag. "What, ordinary meat not good enough for you?"

"What d'yah care? They're jus' mongrels."

The gaunt man smiled humorlessly. "What's wrong? Running out of places to kidnap children? I heard they ran you off from Smethwick some weeks back." He looked her up and down. "I see you're losing weight."

"Who ar' ye?" She looked at him suspiciously now.

"As I've said, I'm just a nobody. But that's my dog and cat you're planning to cook for dinner tonight. So run along now before Ministry people arrive and find you skulking hereabouts."

For some time the hag just stood there, the hand holding her wand twitching tensely, but the gaunt man's eyes narrowed into slits and his arm dropped to his side where he would have quick access to his wand – on this she would bet what few remaining teeth she had left. "Lousy ratter!" she spat, reconsidering her chances, and shuffled away, her progress weighted down with her bags that seemed to be all her possessions in the world.

The warlock followed her with his intense eyes. Only when he was satisfied that she would not turn around to fire back a parting shot did he walk over to the cat, moving a bit stiffly with his right foot dragging slightly behind him. He bent down and checked the animal for vital signs, then picked it up gently and carefully hid it inside his robes. Then he walked out of the alley, the dog following at his heels. They threaded slowly through the maze of Knockturn Alley, the man scanning people's faces as he limped along. The denizens of that grubby street averted their faces as he drew near, for they recognized him, though nobody really knew who he was. Some say he traded in exotic plants and animals, just a hairbreadth's shy of illegal. He was obviously a foreigner judging by his looks, but one could never tell. Though his accent was decidedly British, it was hard to pin down to a particular region.

At last, the warlock and his dog left the shady street of Knockturn Alley and out into the main streets of the Wizarding Market. Still they wended their way along the busy street, the tall man with his dark eyes, black dog trotting beside him. Then they slipped into a side street, though nobody seemed to notice them do so as they entered the alley so narrow no three men could walk through it abreast. Halfway through the alley they stopped. The man then turned to the wall and started running his hands over the rough concrete. A faint blue glow of light started to appear, and he concentrated upon it, running his long, dark fingers along the wall until the light became a door. He tapped the door thrice, murmuring words under his breath, and then the door opened.

It was but a small, dark space, not more than nine meters square. It looked to be some sort of storage, with cases and wooden boxes stacked helter-skelter inside the small space. The tall gaunt man and his dog went inside, the door closing immediately behind them, shutting out the daylight. But just as soon, pockets of light flared to life inside the dim room. The tall man then carefully extricated the still limp cat from inside his robes and gently laid it on the floor. He pulled out his wand and waved it over the cat, Tranfiguring it back into its human form, the Auror Ray. Meanwhile, beside him the black dog had himself Transformed back to another Auror, Gavin.

"Thanks, Harry. I wasn't sure what to do," Gavin said to the warlock who had Transfigured himself as well. "I didn't want anybody to know we've been casing the Alley. Not until we've found the suspect."

"It's okay. I didn't want any incidents either," Harry replied.

Ray began to stir and both Harry and Gavin looked anxiously at him. He sat for a time, massaging his neck.

"Are you okay? How do you feel?" Harry asked him solicitously.

Ray shook his head ruefully. "Feels like I've been hit by a dozen Bludgers."

"Hags' spells are a lot coarser than ours – less focused – and so they put more power in their spells."

"She looks very hungry, too," Gavin noted drily. Ray snorted, but weakly.

"I imagine it would be quite painful. Here, drink this," Harry said, offering Ray a flask of Pepper-Up potion he always carried with him.

Ray looked up at Harry, shamed for being caught unawares. "I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't even see her."

"You wouldn't. She'd transfigured herself as one of the bins." Harry was flying low as a common house sparrow over the rooftops, keeping an eye over Knockturn Alley and his men. He'd already detected her magic, but couldn't identify what it was at first. "I suspect she's weak from malnutrition, her magic might not have registered even if you tried to check for it."

"So, the curse the Ministry placed against her works well, then?" Gavin asked. He now remembered the hag as the primary suspect in a series of missing Muggle children in the West Midlands. The numbers had grown so alarmingly high and the disappearances so bizarre that the Ministry had suspected magic was involved, stepped in, and zeroed in on her as the most likely suspect. On the days in which the children went missing, she could not give verifiable accounts of her whereabouts and had refused to give Veritaserum testimony to support her statements. Not having any proof, the Ministry was forced to let her go, but placed a Trace on the hag nevertheless. What she didn't know was that on the Trace was piggybacked another spell that prevented her from performing magic on and around Muggles and children in general. Gavin heard it was Hermione Granger's work, but he suspected Harry had a hand in it, though technically it wasn't an Auror case. But Piggybacking and Paired Spells was something Gavin knew that in the wizarding world only Harry could perform.

"Good thing hags like their meat freshly-butchered or I would have been a goner," Ray said, still shaking his head.

"So what do we do now, Harry?" Gavin asked. "Do we go back to Knockturn Alley?" He looked unenthusiastic at the prospect. They had been casing the street for three weeks now and seen neither hide nor hair of the Wanderers' Potions runner.

Harry himself was increasingly becoming frustrated with the futile results of their casing; he was starting to feel that they were wasting time. If the suspect were somehow responsible for the Harpies Potion X incident, then he would go underground. "We go back to the Ministry and think of something else to do," Harry decided.

And so the three Aurors left with Harry Portkeying them back to the Ministry since Ray still felt a bit woozy from the curse.

Harry was surprised though to walk into the second level of the Ministry and find it teeming with people, most of whom looked up hopefully the moment he stepped out of the lifts. He walked over to Liede's desk and found her bent under her table, extricating yet another folder to be placed on her desk already half-buried with stacks of parchments.

"Liede, what's going on?" Harry asked the secretary.

"Oh, Mr. Potter, good afternoon," she said, straightening up. "Well, since you're back, these people," and she gestured towards the queue of people snaking around the floor – "came to follow up their cases against the Rosier brothers."

Harry glanced towards the line of complainants. There was still a long list of unresolved cases involving Death Eaters – the missing and illegal confiscation of properties of Muggle-borns and 'undesirables'. The Rosier brothers had been frequently cited as suspects in most of these cases. Harry only escaped the loss of his own fortune because the Gringotts goblins refused to cede control of his account and because old-world money like the Potter-Black fortune had built-in protection against just such illegal seizures.

"Did you tell them that I'm working on another case right now? A priority one?"

"Oh yes. Still, they're here," she said, looking resignedly at the crowd of people, then turned back to Harry. "So Mr. Pendrill ordered Mr. Weasley to process the claims while you're still working on the other one – just the papers," she added hurriedly as an angry frown started to crease Harry's forehead. "Mr. Weasley's not allowed to do field work, unless you're with him. The Minister's orders."

Harry nodded and strode towards his office with a slight twinge of guilt. He and Ron were supposed to be working on the Galina case. Given Galina's history, he simply could not entrust the case to anyone. But now it seemed Ron would have to carry most of the workload on his own, at least after he, Harry, had closed the Harpies case.

Harry opened the door to his office and strode in only to stop short. Ron was talking to one of the complainants, who happened to be the garish lipstick woman. He glanced at Ron, a question in his eyes. Ron answered in his own mind. _Tiggy Wiggins. Her name is Tiggy Wiggins. _Harry nodded. He only knew that she had lost a child, but not the particulars.

Seeing who walked in, Wiggins smiled timidly, a greeting that Harry acknowledged a bit stiffly. He imagined his cheeks slightly burning for knowing something intimate of her. Wiggins reminded him as well of what he had done to Ginny – thinking the worst when Ginny did not do anything wrong and had suffered grievously for it – and Harry's insides squirmed even tighter. Thankfully, Ron didn't notice anything. He was all business and direct this morning. He would be, given the long line outside.

"Don't mind him," Ron said to the woman as he waved a dismissive hand in Harry's direction. "He's only Harry Potter. Go on, as you were saying," he prompted the witch.

She looked apprehensively at Harry at first, who nodded his encouragement as well. Then she turned back to Ron.

"As I've said, the Rosiers have always been after my husband's family's piece of land on the northeast border of their lands. It's the only piece of land the Rosiers haven't acquired yet; all the land surrounding their property they've already taken, one way or the other. But of course, they can't steal it from us like the way they did the poor Muggles in the area."

Harry walked over to his desk and sat down, his discomfort vanishing as he listened to her speak.

"When the Ministry announced that You-Know-Who's back," Wiggins continued, "my husband began making plans to transfer all our properties to our only son as his sole nominee. My husband thought that the Rosiers – once the Death Eaters are in full power – would surely go after our property, which has been in my husband's family for generations. It was the only way my husband knew how to keep his land out of the Rosiers' hands. As you know, a child who owns property cannot transfer or sell it to anyone until he's reached maturity. And when Dumbledore died, my husband pushed through with the transfers, hoping that by the time our son becomes of age, You-Know-Who will have been defeated for good," she said, casting a glance at Harry.

"And he was right," Wiggins continued. "You–Know–Who is gone. Mr. Potter defeated him, as we well knew he would," she said, looking at Harry with a fierce, proud expression on her face. But then her face clouded, suddenly struck with grief. "Except – except – we didn't anticipate what the Rosiers were going to do, we didn't realize what they were capable of doing." She began wringing her hands, her voice starting to break. "My husband thought that they were surely going to punish us, that he would be kidnapped, or killed even. But we've discussed that. He's already prepared himself for that, even though I tried to convince him that we should just leave the country and lay low and be safe. But my husband, he's too stubborn. He did mean for me and David to leave Britain. But he was going to stay behind. He has even already said his goodbyes to us – "

"But you know, it's just land." Harry couldn't help himself from speaking, extremely disappointed that people were willing to risk their lives for a mere piece of land.

"Not with my husband's family, it's not. The Rosiers have been trying to steal that land away from my husband's family for generations. But my husband vowed it would never happen – not in his watch. But we never imagined the Rosiers would go after our son, our David."

"That Christmas, the year the Ministry fell, my son didn't come home for the holidays. We knew he went home on the train. He would never stay at Hogwarts with Death Eaters running the place. My husband and I waited at Platform 9 ¾, waiting for him to step off the train, but he never did. We asked some of his classmates, the few who remained at the station, and they confirmed to us that our son came home with them on the train. But they didn't know where he'd gone off to. We climbed aboard and searched the whole train but we never found him. We had no recourse but to file a missing case here at the Ministry. And it was then that Garrick Rosier cornered my husband and said, 'You think you'll be clever with me? You'll never see your son again.' And that's the last we've heard of our son. We pleaded with them. My husband gave all the deeds and titles of our land to the Rosiers. They took it, but of course, it was already in my son's name. It would be totally useless to them. Still, they refused to tell us what happened to our son." She looked at Ron. "David was only eleven."

Harry and Ron continued to stay silent, letting her speak uninterrupted, letting her extract her grievances and painful memories. He couldn't say anything either, even if he wanted to.

"After the war, we looked for our son everywhere," she said, staring into her hands. Tears had started to fall from her eyes, "but we never saw a trace of him. We've never learned where he was taken, or where he was buried or if they buried him at all. And when we heard the rumors that You-Know-Who used to feed his snake with his victims, I – I – I almost lost my mind."

"We tried having another child. I insisted," she said, brushing her tears angrily away. "Even though my husband doesn't want one anymore. He blames himself for what happened to David, see. But I can't, I just couldn't have any more kids. It was lucky enough that we even had the one. So I told my husband that maybe he should have another child by another woman. I won't mind. But he won't do it. He refused to disrespect me that way, he says. And it would be as if we're forgetting David. He doesn't want to replace our son with another child."

"But it's not as if I want to replace my son. There's not a single day that I don't think about him. How can I forget my only son?" she cried, looking at Harry, willing him to understand. "Yet at the back of my mind, I knew we could not let our lives end here. So every day I try to conceive, even though I knew I could never have another child again. Still, I try. We couldn't stop trying, for it would be as if we've become victims all over again. It would be as if the Death Eaters have never been defeated, that the Rosiers had won." Wiggins looked out at the window, her gaze somewhere far off. "Perhaps, they have," she said in a broken whisper. She turned an anguished face up to Ron and Harry, who normally were uncomfortable with a woman crying, but they couldn't be immune to her pain. "So now I just want to know – if there's a chance at all – that David could be found, if he was buried somewhere, he deserves to come home. That's all I ever hope for...now."

She left with both Ron and Harry promising to do everything they could to find out what happened to her son, even though they knew that it was likely an empty promise. And Harry couldn't stop thinking how he was such a poor, sorry arse. He should have known – there were very few people unaffected by the last war. Behind the many faces he encountered every day in the wizarding world was a broken heart.

"I hate giving people false hopes." Ron's voice broke into Harry's guilt–tripping. "If there's a clue as to what happened to these missing people, or to the properties the Rosiers stole, it would be at her house. How are we going to find it? If she died without telling anyone her address, then it would be impossible to find."

"There are ways around a Fidelius Charm," Harry said quietly.

"There are?" Ron asked, his eyebrows disappearing beneath his hair. "I'm certain there's none or Voldemort would have known about it. He wouldn't have needed Wormtail to betray your parents, would he?"

But Harry did not answer, deep in his thoughts. Ron eyed him in that shrewd way he had, familiar as he was with Harry's moods.

"Or perhaps it's just you," he said, just as quietly. _Oh, why should it even surprise him? _He watched Harry now as the latter continued to mull things over.

For Harry did have an idea. He had been thinking about it, even when he was abroad. He hated leaving a case unclosed, felt that Galina's house held more secrets, answers to who knew what questions. He'd asked Fr. Lockefeer about it. And the old priest confirmed to him that, technically, an intact Fidelius Charm could be broken. But it would take a lot of power, a lot of skill, and perhaps, a bit of uncommon magic – requisites that Harry thought he had.

He turned his body to face Ron fully. "Do you remember your conversation with Galina?"

"Yes. But I can't remember going to her house, Harry. I tried to remember earlier, back in the cemetery and then at the office. Some parts I remember, some are just blanks. I couldn't even remember searching Rosier's records for his home address and emergency contact information. And then the next thing I remember was talking to her inside her house. I tried to picture her house in my mind, but I can't."

"But you do remember being at her house though?" Harry clarified. Ron nodded. "Then just try to remember your conversations inside her house. As much as you can."

Harry then retrieved the Pensieve and set it up in the middle of the room, while Ron notified Liede to cancel all pending interviews for the rest of the day. Then Ron locked the office so no one could just walk in while the two of them were inside the Pensieve. Finally, Harry turned to Ron. "Ready?"

Ron nodded. Ron pointed his wand to his temple and extracted the memory, carefully pulling a long, single, insubstantial strand of thought. Harry readily saw that the strand was not as smooth as extracted thoughts normally were; it seemed to be missing parts of it as if something had bitten into it in places. Then Ron placed the thought into the basin. Harry then prodded the thoughts with his wand and he and Ron then dove into the swirling pool of silvery thought clouds.

They landed right in the middle of Galina's living room. From the internal structure, it seemed to be an old farmhouse. It was dark, dingy inside, and very unkempt. There were stains on the rug under the center table. The furniture too was old, like the black leather sofa, which was frayed and very lumpy, its stuffing showing in places. The dark wooden bookshelf on one side of the wall was full of old, dilapidated books, the leather spine covers torn loose from most of them. Harry was standing near enough the shelf to read some of the titles and saw they were mostly about the Dark Arts.

The Memory–Ron and Memory–Galina were in the middle of the room, talking. Ron was standing, whether by choice or out of Galina's rudeness, Harry could not tell. At certain moments, the memory would flicker into white nothingness but would resolve back to Ron's visit almost at once.

The interview was straightforward enough: Ron merely informing Galina of the disappearance of Garick Rosier's remains. Galina looked appropriately grieved and offended, but now, with the knowledge of hindsight or perhaps it was just his imagination, Harry thought that there was an angry glint to her eye when Ron was not looking that disappeared the moment Ron looked her way.

"This is the only memory I could remember of that night," Ron said. "You can't smell it now but I remember it smelled real bad in here."

Harry nodded, the skin at the back of his neck prickling from the knowledge that Ron could've died in here and nobody would've known. It would be too late before anyone found out.

They walked around the room, trying to explore as much as they could inside the house. Despite knowing the physical limitations of viewing Pensieve memories, Harry still tried to open doors to no avail. He could not physically go out nor go beyond the space Ron himself had been to. He could only see what Ron himself had seen and heard. He tried to climb up the stairs but when he reached the third rise in the steps, the wood suddenly became insubstantial.

Harry walked directly to the window. There was nothing to be seen outside, nothing but insubstantial wisps of nothingness. If he could just have any idea at all of what part of England her house was in then it would be a good enough start. At least, it would be better than nothing.

Harry tilted his head sideways and pressed his ears to the window. He tried to listen to the outside noises. They were very faint, but there nonetheless. Perhaps there was something about the subconscious mind that recorded these outside noises. But he could only hear them at the times when the memory was clear. At the intervals when the scene flickered away, the noises would disappear as well. Then he turned back towards the room and waved his wand. He had erected a sound barrier, insulating himself to the part of Ron's memory closest to the window, separate from the voices inside the house.

Ron noticed what he was doing and opened his mouth to speak but Harry held his hand up: _Wait_.

When the memory was about to end, Harry made a circular motion with his forefinger and Ron, understanding, waved his wand, and the memory started over again from the beginning. Harry listened again, and again, and again, trying to identify each and every noise he could hear from the outside. No trains. No human voices. No noise of distant cars. As a Death Eater, Rosier would have picked out a house as far away from Muggles as possible.

Then he heard it. Faint, but Harry thought he recognized it. He knew birds. It was his favorite animal to Transfigure into. One might even hazard to say that Harry's familiarity and knowledge with the creatures was unparalleled in the wizarding world and not be incorrect.

Harry knelt down on one knee and pressed his left ear to the window closer now. He glanced at Ron, who was still standing outside the sound barrier Harry had erected, waiting for further instructions. Harry motioned again: _Replay the memory._

Ron immediately complied.

There. _Crek–crek. Crek–crek_. The rasping, double call of the corncrake, a bird just recently reintroduced to England, three years prior, to be exact. Sure, the sound could have travelled a long distance. But there were very few places in Britain now where the bird's call could be heard. Harry listened again, making sure. _Affirmative_. Harry straightened up, then removed the barrier from Ron.

"Well?" Ron asked, an eyebrow raised expectantly.

"Let's go," Harry simply replied and they left the memory.


	13. Chapter 13

**Harry Potter and the Necklace of Menat**

Chapter 13

"Harry!" Gavin came hurrying up to Harry as he was about to enter his office the next day. "You were held up yesterday," Gavin said, the moment he came near. "Ray and I didn't know whether to report back here this morning or head straight to Knockturn Alley."

Harry thought for a minute. The Harpies case was and continued to remain his priority – Ginny's life depended on it. It looked like he had to postpone the search for Galina's house. He looked back at Gavin. "Have you done with the info gathering on the other victims?"

"Matt's been, with the security guard. He says he's going to file a report on it today."

"And?" Harry asked, certain Gavin would have taken a peek.

Gavin gave a small guilty smile then shook his head. "Still looks like a dead-end, Harry."

Harry nodded, trusting Gavin's assessment, though he knew he still had to look into the report himself. "Where's Ray?"

"Here!" Ray came striding up to them, munching on his favorite, shooter's sandwich.

"You and Gibbons get your papers ready," Harry told him. "And get to America soon as you can."

Ray's smile broke from ear to ear. "Thank-ee, Har-ree," he said, with his mouth still half-full. Harry could not help but smile. Ray reminded him sometimes of Ron.

"What about me, Harry?" Gavin asked.

"Get a Ministry car. You're coming with me."

After leaving instructions with Liede for Ron to continue with the processing of the Rosier victims' claims, Harry left the Ministry via the visitors' entrance. He did not have to wait long at the Muggle telephone booth entrance before Gavin pulled up in front of him in a black Vauxhall Corsa. He got into the passenger seat but didn't bother to put his seatbelt on. "Hands on the wheel," he ordered Gavin who, knowing Harry, quickly did as he was told. Then Harry tapped the dashboard with his wand and said, "Portus."

A blue luminescent glow began to emanate on the dashboard at the point of his wand's contact, a glow that quickly spread throughout the entire vehicle, encompassing it. The car began to spin, the two Aurors along with it, and they were pulled, car and all, into the space vortex. The car landed with a thud – bouncing a little with the recoiling force – in a lonely country road bordered on both sides by tall trees that provided their sudden appearance sufficient cover.

"Whoa! You should have warned me you were going to do that!" cried Gavin. "Wow! It's actually better than Apparating!"

Harry said nothing but instead rapped the wheel. "Drive," he ordered Gavin. And they went on the short drive from the main road towards the small public inn the chef's parents owned and ran.

Harry turned his face outside the car's window, watching the landscape unfold and undulate as they moved forward. Withcall Village is part of the Lincolnshire Wolds, which had been declared an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty. Many a time Harry had travelled the entire country as a bird, and seen the lands from above. He had been through this area, but he remembered the cultivated lands – from literally, his bird's eyes' view – as almost mathematical in their rigid shapes and formations. But now his eyes feasted on the beauty of the landscape. The road they were driving on was interspersed with lonely goat willow trees, standing bare and defiant against the wintering air. Through the breaks of the hedgerows along the road, he could see farm animals here and there – one particular cow's eyes looking glazed with the torpor of its indolence, its tail flicking slowly in the air.

As they drove, Harry tried to remember everything he could about the dead chef from her files. Angela Smyth–Bothamley – her full-faced smile and curly blonde hair from her Auror files still vivid in his mind. She had been the Harpies' chief caterer even before the war. When the war broke out, she – along with her children and Muggle parents – had gone underground. Her file disclosed that her husband was one of the early _desaparicidos_, the missing, in the second war. And now she too was gone, leaving behind her two children, a girl and a boy. Harry had previously requested to inspect the victim's house, but it had already been sold – with the Harpies management facilitating all the transactions. Still he went there, but found the new owners had already moved in and had either thrown away or burned whatever was left inside the house.

It was still quite early in the morning, but Harry knew the pub would already be open. The Smyths ran a bed and breakfast inn above the pub and the area had been increasingly popular with green tourists. Also, the Hogwart's Express line ran not far from the village, the Muggles attributing the sound the train makes to a ghost train, drawing in more of the curious. Thus, many passing tourists often dropped by the pub for meals and drinks.

Soon enough, they reached the property. Gavin parked across the road from the pub and he and Harry both stepped out of the car. However, Gavin stayed behind to stand post. They were not expecting any surprise attacks – it was just good Auror practice.

As he crossed the street towards the establishment, Harry sent a wandless _Homenum Revelio_. Kingsley once told him that Mad–Eye Moody had a habit of doing so when he was still alive, and Harry saw no harm in following after the fallen Auror's example. He found the practice quite useful and often saved him a lot of trouble later on. The magic came back, giving him a rough estimate of where and how many people were in the property.

The moment he stepped into the pub, Harry's eyes were immediately drawn to the old man by the bar, cleaning the keg beer lines with the help of a much younger man. The old man instinctively looked up the moment the door dinged open. Upon seeing Harry, his face hardened into a scowl. Perhaps it was the trench coat or the black dragon boots he was wearing, or maybe he was developing an aura of general 'wizardishness', but Harry knew the old man had pegged him for a wizard at once.

It was a traditional English pub, its gleaming woods warm to Harry's eyes, and the traditional fireplace, large enough for a grown man to walk through, a dead giveaway to a wizarding history, which was not surprising. Many Muggle–borns could actually trace a magical ancestor in his or her family tree. There were already a couple of customers inside, a pair of old men who looked like they might be locals, probably here waiting until the pub could legally offer them alcohol. It was too late for Harry to realize that he might be a bit overdressed, given the rustic atmosphere. But Hermione and the other women in his life did most of his clothes-shopping for him and, really, he had not much say on the matter except to wear them. It made him squirm at the thought that he looked more like a fashion plate than an officer of the law (albeit of the wizarding kind). Oh, well. Ignoring the curious stares of the customers, he marched directly towards the bar.

When he reached the bar, the old man was in the process of removing the sparklers from the beer tap. Harry watched as the old man then placed the parts on a tray, waiting to be acknowledged. But there was no friendly "Nah then" or "Ey up me duck" greeting for him. Instead, the old man handed the tray over to the young man. "Here, take these and rinse them in the cleaning solution," the old man was saying. "Do it with the other taps as well."

"But I've already soaked them in water last night," the staff complained.

It was quite apparent that the old man, who Harry was sure was Chef Bothamley's father, would continue to ignore him, so he spoke up. "Good morning. Mr. Smyth? May I please have a word?"

The old man glanced up once at Harry then harrumphed. He turned back to the young man as if Harry had not spoken. "It doesn't matter. There might be yeast and germs still in there – "

Undeterred, Harry leaned forward and spoke plainly but quietly so that only the old man heard. "Mr. Smyth, I think you know what I am and why I came here," he said.

"And bring this with you," the old man continued to speak to his staff as if he had not heard Harry. The young man gave Harry an uncertain glance but seemed disinclined to provoke the old man's ire any further. The old man then handed over to the young man a bucket filled with left-over beer drained from the tap they were cleaning. The bar staff stretched out his hand to take the bucket but then his hand slackened and the bucket fell, spilling its contents to the floor. "What the – " the old man started angrily, but then he saw the young man's face: his expression was blank, his eyes glazed over. The young man then abruptly turned around and went through the swinging door that led to the back, giving Harry a brief glimpse of the kitchen. The old man whipped around and saw the other people in the room were wearing a similar look on their faces. He now looked back at Harry, looking back at him with a calm, level expression on his face. The old man tried to remember if the strange wizard had pulled out a wand, like he had seen his daughter and son-in-law did theirs the times he had witnessed them perform magic. But for the life of him he could not; he did not even see the young man move a muscle. Finally, his eyes narrowed in recognition.

"It's you! You're that Potter kid my daughter and her husband used to keep talking about," the old man said accusingly. He eyed Harry up and down. "I didn't recognize you. Always thought of you as a young boy…."

Harry waved the old man's words aside. "Mr. Smyth, I need to talk to you. I need your help."

"What kind of help could I possibly give you? I'm just an old man who cannot do magic."

"I just want to find out more about what happened to your daughter," Harry said.

"Your people have already been here with their questions. I've already told them. I don't know anything!"

"How about her records, did she leave any papers behind?"

"I already burned them all. You're welcome to the ashes – if you can find them. You can hang your nose over them for all I care."

"Look," said Harry, gritting his teeth, "I'm trying to find out who's responsible for the death of your daughter and others in that affair. The least you can do is to try and help me."

"Now, how do you expect me to do that? You're the one with all these powers!"

"I understand that your daughter was also the supplier for the drinks at the party," said Harry. "And a few of them are Muggle drinks. Can you at least tell me where she got them?"

"My daughter bought them from me. She could always get a good price for them from me than any source she could get. So what?" Mr. Smyth said, his voice hardening. "What are you really trying to say? That I killed my own daughter? Is that it?"

"No. It's not what I said," Harry said, refusing the urge to rub down his face in exasperation. He sensed someone was just on the other side of the kitchen door, listening in. He suspected it was the old man's wife. And he now wanted to make his appeal to her as much as to the old man. "I'm just trying to explore all possible avenues that would lead me to a suspect."

The old man snorted. "Those people – the ones who keep trying to give me money, as if it's enough compensation for my daughter's life – told me how none of the victims could remember anything. And here you are bothering me, trying to find who did it? I'm the last person you should ask. If you think that I know anything to help you solve the case, then you're barking up the wrong tree. "

"So, you're perfectly willing to let the people responsible for your daughter's death just walk away? If there's a chance at all that the killers could be brought to justice, wouldn't you like to help?"

"Whatever for? It's not as if it'll bring back my daughter from the dead! No matter what you do, my daughter would still be dead, won't she? And no amount of investigating would bring her back to life."

"Mr. Smyth – " Harry began to plead but the old man rudely cut him off.

"Look, I have my grandkids to look after now. If I help you, who's to say no one's going to come after us? What then? Will you be here 24 hours of the day guarding me and my family? If you think I'm going to risk my grandkids' lives – "

"If it's just a matter of security, I can help – "

"Help! Meaning run away again?" the old man spat. "We've already done that. First, we have to leave this place because my daughter said she was in danger for being born to non-magical parents. And now this. We have just picked up the pieces again. You and your people are welcome to your unnaturalness. But I will have no more of them in my own house. My grandchildren don't need no more magic."

"You're not thinking of stopping them from going to Hogwarts?" Harry frowned at the old man.

"That freak school of yours? Why not? If what you can do really is all that great, how come your world has all these problems? How come people still get killed for no reason at all? My daughter didn't hurt anybody. She could have, but she didn't. And still she was killed. I'll be damned if I let my daughter's children suffer the same fate. So leave us be. We don't want anything to do with the lot of you anymore. I'll be looking after my own grandkids myself."

Harry stared at chef Angela's father and realized the old man was unyielding in this, as implacable as the hardest stone in his hatred of the magical world. "I hope for their sake that you don't," he said at length. Behind him, the lights began to flicker. Suddenly one bulb exploded. The old man cried out in alarm but the explosion was followed by another one, then another one, until every light bulb in the room had burst all to pieces. But it didn't stop there; minute explosions began to wrack the very air so that it looked like Guy Fawkes Night inside the bar. The old man lifted an arm to shield his eyes and cover himself from shards and light bulb pieces that did not come. On the other side of the kitchen door, the barkeep's wife tried to rush into the room at the first sound of explosion but found it blocked, even though the swing door had no lock on it on either side. She was about to panic when suddenly she felt something beside her. She turned her head and found herself standing before a beautiful stag. But it was not like any stag she had ever seen, for it seemed to be made entirely of light – pure, bright, luminous light. She was utterly mesmerized. She reached out her hand but merely touched air. A reassuring stillness descended upon her. She knew who was inside talking to her husband. She had heard her husband cry out the name earlier. Everything would be all right.

The other Muggles in the room seemed unaffected too by the pyrotechnics going off all around them, their faces remaining glued to the telly which was showing a rerun of an American sitcom. Then just as quickly as the fireworks started, the number of tiny explosions began to cease until there was no more. The old man blinked his eyes several times, trying to readjust his eyesight. And when he at last opened his eyes to survey the room, everything was back to normal, every single light bulb looking undamaged and intact – as if nothing had occurred. The old man slowly turned his gaze back to Harry, not a little unnerved at witnessing such display of magic. Harry was watching him calmly back.

"See that?" Harry spoke quietly. "That's energy, the same type of energy running in your grandchildren's veins. I know what trying to stop that kind of energy would do to a magical person," he said, thinking of Ariane Dumbledore. "And I assure you, you don't want that to happen to either of them."

It took a long time for the old man to answer, shocked at the realization that this young man – merely a third of his own age – could easily _end_ him and he would not even know that it had happened. At length he found his voice again, and though his tone was no longer as combative as before, his expression remained unyielding. "No matter what you say, it still wouldn't change things. I still wouldn't have my daughter back. If only I have refused to send her to that school of yours the first time your people told me she was magical, then my daughter would still be alive now. I would still have my daughter," he said, choking on the last words. He turned away, hiding his face. "Go! Leave! Just let me carry my pain to my grave. Leave us all in peace."

Harry stood there for a moment, staring at the old man, but the elder man kept his back turned to him. Harry shook his head. He understood that the old man was still grieving his daughter's death but it did not ease his frustration. He turned on his feet and marched out of the pub, undoing the anti-Muggle spells he had performed earlier as he left.

When he had gone, the wife emerged from the kitchen and watched silently as her husband unnecessarily wiped the glass front of the cabinets behind the bar. She waited for him to acknowledge her presence but he doggedly refused to look her way. Sighing, she began to speak. "You've heard the stories about him, Martin. How at seventeen he tried to give up his own life to save others. How many people do you know have the courage to do that? And at such a young age? Don't you think he's someone we ought to trust? At the very least, the children deserve to know who they really are."

The old man did not reply and continued his ineffectual wiping of the cabinet, but with a lot less vigor this time.

Outside, Harry started to walk back towards the car. Gavin, who had been standing under the shade of a tree, his back against it, met him halfway. Harry shook his head at Gavin's questioning look, indicating his interview had not been productive. They then headed back towards the car, Gavin walking round to get into the driver's seat. Harry was about to open the car door on his side when he stopped. He looked back towards the house, his brows creasing. Then he turned to Gavin, who was already halfway inside the car. "You wait here," he told Gavin. Harry then strode back towards the property, but this time walking around the pub, towards the back. He looked up at the windows of the rooms-to-let upstairs to see if anyone was looking out the window. Fortunately, there was no one.

There was a huge garden off to the side of the main building, a play area for kids. A lone girl knelt on the grass. She had the same curly blonde hair as the late Angela Bothamley. She had to be Jessica, Bothamley's daughter. The girl was trying to keep pinned down a barn cat with her left hand, while waving over it a piece of twig with the other.

_Sunshine, daisies, buttermellow_

_Turn this stupid fat cat yellow!_

Harry smiled. Somehow, the press had gotten hold of that spell the twins taught Ron their first year at Hogwarts. Almost all the books about him included that bit of nonsensical poem, immortalizing the twins' prank.

Harry stood in the sidelines, watching, just waiting for her to notice him. After a few moments she did, jumping to her feet the moment she saw him. She looked scared and was about to holler when she recognized him. Her eyes grew round. She made as if to run towards him but stopped. Instead she glanced back towards one of the buildings at the back of the house, which Harry thought was the barn housing the farm's animals. When she saw no one there, she turned back to Harry.

"Hello," said Harry.

"You're Harry Potter," she breathed after a moment. Harry gave her a small smile. He was trying to size her up; he did not want to scare her away.

"You died —" she said.

_Well, then_. Obviously, she was not the least intimidated by him.

"...but you came back. Did you see my dad in heaven?"

Harry scratched the back of his neck, finding himself disarmed by a mere eight-year old. "Ehrm, I didn't exactly go to heaven."

"Where did you go then?" she demanded, her brows coming together, looking as if she did not believe him.

"Ehrm - "

"Jess, what are you doing?" A young boy, a couple of years older than she, came running out from the barn, a horse's body brush in his hand. He eyed Harry with great suspicion, as well as fear. But when he came near enough to get a good look at Harry, he slowed down to a walk. He had to be her brother, Nicholas. "Grandpa said not to talk to strangers," the boy told Jessica, with repeated glances up at Harry.

Jessica wheeled on her brother at once. "Well, he's not a stranger, is he? He's Harry Potter, or can't you see? He's one of the good guys!"

"But we're not sure if he's the real Harry Potter! Why would he come here? Maybe he's an impostor!" the boy fought back, with probably more bravado than he felt.

"Have you forgotten what mum said? Remember when we saw him once at a Harpies game? Mum said it's very difficult to imper- imper- _impersonify _Harry Potter, just like Dumbledore."

Harry had a difficult time trying to stifle a smile. The young girl looked like a real firebrand.

"Still, Grandpa says not to make a nuisance of ourselves with anyone."

"Grandpa only says that if there are Muggles around. Well, Harry Potter's hardly a Muggle, is he?" she said, planting a hand on her hip.

"Even so. We're not supposed to talk to anybody," the boy muttered.

Harry thought it time to step in, before Jessica whittled her brother down any further. "Actually, what I'm trying to do is find out who hurt your mum and other people in the Harpies victory pary."

"Will it help catch the person who killed mummy?" Jessica said, turning back to him, her annoyance disappearing as quickly as it had come.

"I'm not sure, but every little bit helps. The more we know, the more we can find out who did it," said Harry.

"But we don't know anything. Do we Nick?" Jessica said, all enmity forgotten.

Nick shook his head, still distrustful of Harry.

"But do you remember anything unusual on that day? Anything at all? The day your mum prepared the meals for the Harpies–Krestel game?" Harry could not bring himself to say 'the last day you saw your mum alive.'

"No. It was just like the other times when mum was the one who cooked the food for an event," said Jessica. She turned to her brother. "Nicholas?" The young boy shook his head again. She turned back to Harry. "It's just the same. She let us help her prepare the _oirderves_* and bake the cake and tarts. She let me stir the batter 'cause I'm good at it," she said proudly.

Harry saw an opening. "Are you really? "

"I swear!" She turned to her brother. "Tell him, Nick. Tell him I'm good at it. "

But Nicholas was in no mood to humor her and merely glanced up at Harry, still distrustful.

"Perhaps you can show me how? "

"But how? Grandpa doesn't let me anywhere near the cooker because I frequently have accidents," she said, dispirited.

"We don't need a live demonstration. Perhaps you can just show me a memory of you doing it?" Harry felt a cad just saying the words, but he had no choice. "Perhaps the day of the party? And perhaps we'll see something that could help with your mum's case." At least he would be honest.

Nicholas gave him a look, that he knew exactly what Harry was doing.

"I'm sorry Nicholas, but if there's a possibility that there's a clue buried somewhere in your memories, wouldn't you like to help?"

Nicholas stared up at Harry, as if measuring him. Finally, he nodded.

"Oh, but how are you going to see?" said Jessica. "We didn't record it on the videocam."

Harry smiled and carefully pulled out his wand from inside his robes.

Jessica's eyes widened. "Oooooh, are you going to do magic?"

"Only if it's okay with you?" Harry said, crossing his fingers behind his back. Gibbons might take issue with him extracting memories from children without a parent's or guardian's consent.

"It's okay with me," said Jessica. Harry glanced at Nicholas but Jessica answered for him. "Oh, it's okay with him, too," she said, freely dispensing with her brother's permission. But Harry waited until Nicholas made a convulsive nod of his head.

Harry stepped closer to Jessica and knelt down in front of her. "Just think about everything you did with your mum that day, okay?"

"Okay."

Harry slowly lifted his wand towards Jessica's temple, Jessica following with her eyes every movement he made. As he was about to bring the phoenix wand up to her temple, she suddenly cried. "It won't hurt, won't it?"

"I promise it won't," Harry said, looking Jessica in the eye. Jessica nodded. "Close your eyes," Harry said. "I need you to concentrate on everything you could remember that day. Can you do that, Jessica?'

"Uh–huh."

"I have to hold your arm to keep you still. Is that okay?"

"Uh–huh."

"Don't go to sleep now," Harry joked to put Jessica at her ease.

Jessica giggled, lifting her hand to cover her mouth but she kept her eyes closed.

Harry then placed the tip of the phoenix wand to her right temple. When he saw the silvery blue light emanating from her skin in contact with his wand's tip, he began pulling his wand away, trailing the luminous thread of thought with it. When he was finished, he carefully placed the thought into a flask.

"Is it over?" Jessica asked, looking at the flask in Harry's hand.

"Yes."

Jessica continued to watch as Harry tucked the flask into an inside pocket. That done, Harry turned to Nicholas. "May I?" he said, gesturing with his wand towards Nick. The young boy nodded once more. Nicholas moved toward Harry and stood in front of him. In his position, Harry was lower than the young boy. Nevertheless, he remained on his knees as he would be less threatening that way. Then he extracted Nicholas's memories just as he did with his sister.

Harry finished in a trice. He placed Nicholas's memories in a separate flask, tucking it safely in his pocket. He then stood up and looked at the children. "Thank you, to both of you," he said.

"Will you catch the bad guy who killed Mummy now?"

"I hope so." Harry tapped his jacket where he hid the memory bottles. "With your help, I would." Harry looked at the two children. There was a certain air of dispiritedness that seemed to hung about them. He hated leaving them, especially when he did not know if they would be alright.

Then an idea came to him. He thought of the copy of _Niff the Smeller, the Adventurous Tales of the Nifty Niffler_ in his room at Grimmauld's. He had bought it in Australia a couple of months back, intending to give it to Teddy, but the book seemed too advanced for a five-year old. It would be just right for Jessica and Nicholas, though. The latter, he thought, would especially appreciate the part about the gargoyle who tried to mount and tame a bucking broomstick as he chased a dragon across three counties. The story too constantly changed based on which path the reader chose the characters to take. All the pictures moved as well. There was even a treasure hunt game at the back part of the book wherein, if you successfully finish the quest, a real treasure would materialize — a ring or any kind of jewelry, made of conjured gold. The game was different every time you play it; so was the prize in the end.

Harry held out his hand, and almost at once the book appeared in his open palm. Smiling, he offered it to Jessica. She turned to her brother uncertainly, and when he made no objection, she reached a tentative hand out and took the book. Then she brought it up to her chest and opened it gingerly, devouring the pages hungrily with her eyes.

"Only the two of you can see it for what it really is," Harry said. "If any Muggle comes near, all they'll see is an ordinary children's book."

Jessica looked up gratefully, ran towards him, and hugged him tightly. Harry bent down and hugged her back. "Thank you, Mr. Potter," she said.

Nicholas found his voice as well. "Thank you, Mr. Potter."

"I wish mum could have met you," Jessica said. "You're really as wonderful as they say."

"I wish I did, too," Harry answered truthfully. Angela Bothamley must have been a wonderful woman to have raised such wonderful kids on her own.

There was an awkward moment when Harry knew he had to make his leave but he did not know how to go about doing so. But then Jessica spoke again.

"Mr. Potter, can you make it so that I can talk to my mum again?" she said.

Harry gazed back at her: A lot seemed to hinge on his answer. "I can't Jessica. I'm sorry," Harry said sadly. "There are some things that even magic can't do anything about. I can't bring back your mum. I wish I could. If I had it in me, I would," Harry said gently.

"I wish my mum was still here. I miss her a lot."

"I know. And I'm sorry for what happened."

She looked so downtrodden that Harry couldn't help himself. He knelt down once more and extended his hand out to her. She took it up at once and seated herself on his thigh, placing an arm around his shoulder.

"Tell you what," Harry said, addressing the two young kids. "You know how my mum and dad were killed when I was a baby?"

"Uh-huh. You-Know-Who killed them. It's in your book."

"You know I was sent to live with my Muggle relatives. And they were never nice to me."

"Did you turn them into slugs?"

"No," said Harry with a smile. "Like you, I was still small then; I couldn't do magic very much. But you know what?"

"What?' Jessica's voice lowered in a whisper, her eyes wide, as if she expected Harry to reveal a big secret.

"Just because our loved ones are no longer with us doesn't mean that they have stopped loving us. They continue to watch over us, you know."

"Do they really? "

"I know so," Harry said, brushing a few stray hairs off Jessica's face. "Not only that. Later on I met friends and people who loved me and whom I love in turn. I'm happy now. It's not perfect, but I have people who love me. It's not always going to be sad." Then Harry's eyes flickered towards Nicholas. "Besides, you still have your grandparents and your brother. And I'm sure they love you very much."

Jessica glanced over at Nicholas. "He does take care of me," she agreed.

"C'mon, Jess," said Nicholas. "Let's go inside before Grandpa sees us." He offered his hand to her.

Jessica kissed Harry on the cheek and clambered down from his lap. Harry stood up as she walked back to her brother. She turned around back to Harry. "Goodbye, Mr. Potter. I hope you catch those who killed my mum,"she said.

Harry watched as the two children walked away, Nicholas placing a protective arm on his sister's shoulders. He did not leave until they were back inside one of the buildings, which must be where they were staying now. And even though he hardly thought it necessary, Harry renewed and reinforced the protective wards Angela Bothamley placed on her Muggle parents' home.

He then returned to the Corsa. And he and Gavin went back to the Ministry as quickly as they had left, with Harry Portkeying them in the car.

Harry headed straight back to his office, leaving clear instructions to Liede not to be disturbed. He took out the Pensieve and poured the flask's contents carefully into it. Technically, the memories were not admissible in court. But he was determined to find out the culprit, and worry about how to apprehend and bring any suspect he found to justice later. He then dove into the pool of memories, landing in the memory of Jessica waking up and walking into the kitchen with her mum's preparations already in full swing. The kitchen table was already overflowing with ingredients with some of the food already half-prepared. Still, she welcomed Jessica's arrival, still took the time to serve her breakfast (Nicholas was already there). There was a door that led to a backroom where the drinks had been stored. The door was slightly ajar which allowed Harry to inspect the room. He went inside and crouched down before the kegs and cases of bottled drinks. But everything looked untampered.

Harry went back into the kitchen and watched Bothamley making the preparations for the event. Harry knew that she did more at the manor. The very first memories of the victims who worked at the kitchen were of her already working on the food in the manor's kitchen. She had been the first one to arrive at the venue. So Harry closely inspected her movements. Like Mrs. Weasley, she was greatly aided by magic. But as Jessica said, Bothamley allowed her kids to help as well. Harry simply couldn't find anything suspicious in her actions. If she had been the poisoner, she could hardly be supposed to have poisoned her children as well. The fact that they were not proved that.

Soon, lunch came. Bothamley served her children a full, healthy meal, not something she had cobbled up on the fly. After they had eaten she hurried the children to wash and get dressed so she could bring them to her parents' house to stay for the duration of the game. Since it was the semi-finals, the event would be far more hectic than at any other Harpies game and she could not take them along with her. Soon after, they left. The memories ended with Bothamley dropping the children off at her parents and she soon left after that, looking all in a hurry.

And that was all he got from Jessica's memory.

Next, Harry studied Nicholas's version of that day's events. There were few differences between the two children's memories. Nicholas's were a couple of hours longer, having joined his mother earlier in the kitchen. Then, at around one o'clock while the children were having their lunch, the doorbell rang. Bothamley rushed out from the kitchen to answer the door. Nicholas, the man of the house, leaned his head out of the kitchen door to watch as her mum opened the front door. It was the driver of the catering van, come to take and deliver the food to the Harpies event. Satisfied that he knew the person at the door, Nicholas went back to the table and returned to his lunch.

It was but a brief glimpse, but it was enough. Harry left the Pensieve memory but kept the image of the suspect on top of the soup of swirling thoughts. Half sitting against his desk, his arms crossed, Harry stared awhile at the now quite familiar face, thinking, thinking.

It was the same suspect they had been searching for the past three weeks, the same suspect who supplied the Wizard Wanderers their Potion X.

Bothamley trusted him to deliver the food and drinks at the manor, as she must have done many times before. Clearly, he had every opportunity to spike the food and the drinks along the way – he had more than enough time. With no Aurors on site to even make a cursory inspection of the items, he had free rein that afternoon.

Harry was still looking at the image when the door to his office opened. Ron came in, a stack of parchments in his arms. Other people who did not know Harry well would not think something was amiss. But there was a slight rigidity in the angle of Harry's jaws that said otherwise; Ron noticed it at once. "What's up?" he asked, slowly putting down the parchments on his desk.

"Found a suspect," Harry replied.

"What? Who?"

Harry glanced down at the Pensieve where the face of the potion runner was still visible on the surface. Ron came nearer and studied the face. Then his brows creased into a furrow. "I want a closer look," he said.

Harry waved his wand, pulling all the dust particles in the room into the suspect's face as it slowly rose up from the Pensieve's surface, forming a three-dimensional image.

Ron walked around the Pensieve, viewing the face at every angle. After a few moments, he looked up at Harry. "I know this bloke," he said, looking Harry dead in the eye. "He works for Philip."

~o~

AN: Surprise!...not. ;D

* Hors d'oeuvre


	14. Chapter 14

**HARRY POTTER AND THE NECKLACE OF MENAT**

Chapter 14

Harry uncrossed his arms and stood erect. "What do you mean he works for Philip?" he asked, his voice sharpening.

"Remember when I had to return the computer I bought for Hermione?" Ron replied. "The one that never worked?" Harry nodded. "I dropped them off at George's shop," said Ron. "And this bloke was there. Turns out mine wasn't the only one that turned out to be a lemon; almost every unit sold was returned. So George contacted Philip's office and asked that Philip take all his inventory from the Wheezes' shop. Everything, including the unsold appliances. And this was the bloke who came to pick up the units."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. Coz I was really angry that day. And so was George. And you know how George is these days. He really let the bloke have it." Ron's forehead creased, as a thought occurred to him. "Harry, you don't think what happened to Ginny was a way to get back at George?"

"I don't know. Maybe." Harry was noncommittal. He wasn't there; he did not have all the facts. And to never go half-cocked was one painful lesson he had learned long ago. He thought for a minute. "How do we contact this guy?"

"Verity does it," said Ron. "Philip owns a Muggle _eklectic _store. She usually just calls Philip's secretary."

"An electronic store?"

"Yeah. That one." Ron looked at Harry, and Harry could plainly see the glint of anger starting to fire up in Ron's eyes. "Harry, do you think Philip had something to do with it? Because, if he did – "

Ron did not need to finish. All kinds of hell would break loose, for certain. Harry was not sure how he himself would react if he ever found proof that Philip was responsible for what happened to Ginny. Then something quite obvious had just occurred to him. "Effing hell," he whistled. He looked across at Ron. "I sent Philip away."

"But you do know where he is though?"

"By now, who knows where he's landed?"

"But if you want, you can go look for him and find him, bring him back here?" Ron clarified.

Harry shrugged. "If I want." But there was no question of him leaving the country now. "I need the address of his Muggle store," he said.

"Verity knows where it is."

Harry cocked an eye at Ron. "There's no need for you to hide anything from me, Ron," he said. Did he not already know that the brothers had followed Philip for weeks? Surely, they all knew both his home and store address. As an Auror, it was behavior certainly to be frowned upon at the Department, but Harry was not one to quibble over procedural matters and ethical conduct where they didn't matter.

"It's in Wandsworth," Ron said, the corner of his lips lifting briefly. He just couldn't get anything past Harry. He leaned over his desk and wrote down the address on a piece of parchment which he then handed over to Harry.

Harry glanced down at the paper then tucked it in the front pocket of his jeans. He raised his head and saw Ron watching him expectantly. "You know I can't bring you on board this case," said Harry.

"She's my sister," said Ron sourly.

Harry lowered his eyes to the floor, refusing to meet Ron's gaze. It wasn't up for discussion. He gave his word to Kingsley; his hands were tied. Bad enough that he had to keep himself in check, let alone try to hold a Weasley in high temper back.

"Right," Harry heard Ron say. He looked up to watch Ron's back as his best mate left the room.

Harry waited a few minutes, then went over by the door and called the rest of the team into the office. He advised them of this latest development. They debated briefly whether to storm the electronic store with wands ablazing or just sniff around, case the joint until the suspect turned up.

"No, it's likely the suspect thinks we're on his trail by now," said Harry, interrupting the discussion. "It may even be likely that he has already fled the country. No, we go in officially. Perhaps that would scare the Muggles into giving information away."

"Alright, who's gonna go?" asked Gavin.

"I am," said Harry, which raised the eyebrows of the men in front of him to infinity levels.

"Haaarry, that is an appliance store. Mug-gle. Electric," Ray patiently tried to explain. "I know you're rich and probably have no idea where to spend your money on. But do you really want to compensate Philip Rawlings for the damage you're likely to do in his store?"

Harry said nothing, the expression on his face impassive. Magic is energy, he had learned that at Hogwarts. But Fr. Lockefeer made him understand that, like energy, it obeys certain rules (although the priest did mention that magic is also a quantum function – whatever that means). Harry only needed to literally ground his magic to be able to move freely in the Muggle world — similar to grounding electricity, directing the energy away, to protect a building from a lightning strike. Heretofore it had been a serious handicap, Muggle electronics malfunctioning around him, thereby betraying himself to Muggles. But not anymore.

The men understood then that it was not going to be a problem. And though it surprised them, on the other hand, it was not really surprising. Harry had blown their minds before.

With that, the meeting adjourned and the Aurors filed out of the room. Ray hung back by the door only to grumble at Harry as he reached it. "You couldn't find the suspect until after Gibbons and I were already in America, could you?"

But Harry simply grinned as he slapped Ray on the back.

Harry then left with Matt to go to Philip's store. Harry did not introduce themselves as Muggle law enforcement agents, but Rawlings' employees assumed that they were and he let them go on thinking it. There was just enough of the unsavory in the suspect's character that the employees readily accepted the idea that he was in trouble. Unfortunately, even if the Muggles had been willing, and despite Harry using slight Legilimency, the Muggle employees had virtually no information to give them. The Muggles simply could not remember much of the suspect. The few times the suspect dropped by the store, he always had a cap on or the hood of his jacket covering his face.

"It's been four months since I last saw him," Philip's secretary, who had the most dealings with the suspect, said.

"Before or after June the 27th?" Harry asked.

She consulted briefly with her record books. "I'd say before. I remember because we usually put in our request for our Christmas inventory around that time. And I saw him before that."

So he did go underground soon after the incident, Harry thought to himself. "How about his address or contact number? Do you have it?"

"I'm sorry, no," she said, shaking her head. "He's not really a regular employee here. He's not even on the payroll. He only comes by whenever we receive a call from one of our consignment stores in – Diamond Alley? Diabolical Alley? – for some reason I can't remember. Then I would email Mr. Rawlings, and he would email me back with instructions, and this man would turn up with his van. I never liked him. He wouldn't have anything to do with us. He's quite shifty. I don't understand what my boss is doing with the likes of him. If I didn't know any better I would think my boss is into something illegal, but that's just unthinkable. For why would he? He's already very rich," the secretary rambled on.

"I see," said Harry. "How about your CCTV cameras? Are they working?"

"Oh, yes."

"Is it possible that you still have videos from three months back?"

"Oh yes, of course. We seldom erase them. Mr. Rawlings hasn't seen them yet; he rarely has the time. In fact he only just came back some weeks back, then promptly disappeared again."

"Is that normal behavior for Mr. Rawlings?" Harry asked, genuinely curious. The secretary seemed unfazed by Philip's sudden disappearance.

"Since I first started working for him a couple of years back, I'd say yes. The boss has other stores abroad," the secretary said, with not a small hint of pride at this proof of how rich the man she was working for was.

Harry nodded. "About those CCTV footages. Can we take a look?"

She suddenly became very reluctant. "But only Mr. Rawlings is allowed to view the footages – " she began, looking very uncomfortable. Harry exchanged brief glances with Matt. Then he turned back to her and the secretary's eyes became dull and vacant as Harry hit her with the Imperius spell. They simply didn't have the luxury of time and Harry didn't much care about Philip's opinion these days.

Eyes glazed, the secretary then swiveled on her chair and logged in on the CCTV software at the computer on her desk. "We can view it here, the CCTV's digital video recorder is connected to this computer," she said, speaking like an automaton. Harry and Matt then studied the footages right in Philip's office. But when they reviewed the footages, Harry saw that in every frame, not only did the suspect took care that his face not be seen, but from the external CCTV cameras, Harry noticed the license plate on the suspect's van — a white Ford Transit — was also blurred. The suspect must have cast a permanent _Repello Muggletum_ charm on his vehicle. It was quite obvious that he went to extraordinary lengths to hide his identity; why he felt the need to, Harry would soon find out. In the end, the two Aurors left with nothing save the name of the suspect: Corry Britwhistle.

"Another dead end," Matt sighed as they stepped out of the store. The street was already filling with Muggles getting off from work.

But Harry was already thinking ahead. He knew the moment he saw it in Nicholas Bothamley's memory that he might have to go back and interview the boy again. But he had always disliked bringing children into any of his cases. Looked like he had no choice.

He looked at his watch; he was a bit early. He and Matt parted company and as soon as he reached a deserted alley, Harry Apparated to the Burrow. If he were anywhere near a fireplace, then he would have Flooed. It took him a lot less energy – but no such luck.

He did not expect to find Ginny waiting for him on the third floor balcony. It had been weeks since Ginny stopped waiting for him there. The air was getting colder. She also felt guilty about her mum climbing up and down the stairs just to check on her, to see if she needed anything.

When he thus arrived at the Burrow, he wasn't surprised to find her at the kitchen table, working on her research. She was planning to write about the Harpies' famous defeat of the Heidelberg Harriers in 1953. Many books had already been written about the famous game, but this would be the first time the story would be written from the perspective of a Harpies insider. And Ginny had unprecedented access to the players in that game, as every year the Harpies celebrated an annual gathering of its players past and present.

Harry did not know that Ginny had a knack for writing, that if she hadn't been drafted to play in the British and Irish Quidditch League, then she would have gone into professional writing. Harry was even surprised to learn that a funny letter to the editor he'd once read in the newspaper was actually written by Ginny. Even then he had found it absolutely brilliant: funny and pointed without being obnoxious. And Ginny had knowledge of Quidditch that easily surpassed Ron's. Just one of the many wonderful qualities Ginny had.

She didn't see him at first. The Burrow's kitchen door was the kind with a screen on top and a wooden panel underneath – unlike Muggle homes, wizards are able to charm their houses so that heat stays in while keeping the cold out even with only a screen door as a barrier. Harry stood outside, watching Ginny as she took down notes for her research. But Ginny seemed to have developed a sixth sense whenever he was around (or maybe she had always had it, he just didn't know), and she instinctively looked up even before he could make his presence known. With a smile to match hers, Harry opened the door. Ginny stood up and walked around the table and straight into his arms.

"You're early!" she beamed up at him.

"I know," Harry said, brushing her long hair towards the back of her shoulders.

"Are you hungry?"

Harry smiled. Weasley women had a tendency to always ask their men if they were hungry. Even Hermione had started doing it. "Not very much." He glanced at the papers strewn on the table. "How's the research going?"

"It's getting along," Ginny said, glancing back at her papers. She still hadn't removed her arms from around Harry's waist.

"Where's mum?" asked Harry.

"She's in the attic. She reckons she has old Quidditch magazines from the fifties that belonged to Uncle Gideon and Uncle Fabian for the book I'm writing. They were huge Quidditch fans themselves, you know."

With some time to kill before dinner, Harry and Ginny went back to the table and together they worked on her research. Ginny would silently read her source material, then read aloud the parts she thought relevant to her book, which Harry would then dutifully write down. Ginny often looked over his arm to check what he was writing, resting her chin, or even planting small kisses on his arm every time she did so. Later Mrs. Weasley came down bringing with her piles of old, dusty, yellowing magazines but Ginny still carried on with her open displays of affection. If Mrs. Weasley disapproved of these, she didn't say anything. She had long ago given up trying to make Ginny stop or even reprimand her for her behavior. There was simply no talking to her daughter. Besides, she trusted Harry not to compromise Ginny's health any further. He had been nothing but a gentleman around Ginny; it was her own daughter that was the problem.

Harry and Ginny continued to work while Mrs. Weasley bustled around the kitchen preparing dinner. Both Ginny and Harry had offered to help, but she declined. Soon, Mr. Weasley arrived and they all sat down to dinner. Harry moved to the other side of the table. In front of Mr. Weasley, Ginny was the very picture of decorum, which amused Harry no end, Mrs. Weasley being the stricter parent.

They spent the meal in companionable conversation, without any mention of the cases and problems besetting them. Small talk continued even after dinner was over, with Ginny helping Mrs. Weasley clear the table and wash the dishes while Harry stepped outside to make sure the Burrow was secure. Then Mr. and Mrs. Weasley finally bid them goodnight and retired to their rooms.

Harry and Ginny then retreated into the Burrow's sitting room, as they had always done since they had first gotten together. Harry was happy for this time alone with Ginny and yet every minute with her in the sitting room was sheer torture. Though he did his almighty best to keep his hands to himself, Ginny however had other ideas. Because, according to her, if she was going to die anyway, then why shouldn't she be happy? What if this was their only chance to be together? She didn't want to waste it. And every time they were together, she tried to prove her point. And, oh boy, thought Harry, what _points _they were. For there were nights when he could feel, as she leaned closer to him, that Ginny wasn't wearing a bra.

But he was the man. He had to be the big man in this, hadn't he? But Ginny was just making it _oh-so-hard_ for him. He was an Auror, for fuck's sake…. Harry gave himself a mental shake, realizing the direction towards which his thoughts were pointing…er, leading.

True enough, the night turned out to be no different. If anything, it became worse. Because as soon as they sat down on the long red sofa, Ginny draped a leg over his. Harry stared wide-eyed at her. _What the devil – ? Does she have any idea what that act does to a man? Does she?_ But Ginny only smiled cheekily back at him. Harry didn't have it in him to push her leg away. It was ungentlemanly for him to do so, yet it would also be ungentlemanly for him to act upon his instinctive response (he had to pin down his hand under his leg to keep himself from doing anything). Well, not really, they were together now. But with the _Père _Presumptive spell, they simply could not risk it.

Later, he would not be able to recall what they talked about that night. Because just beneath the surface of their polite conversation, a silent battle was ongoing. Harry would be making an innocent remark, and then Ginny would lightly place a hand on his thigh. A spark, a lightning bolt of electricity would rush through him, and Harry knew that Ginny's intentions were far from innocent. He'd give her a disapproving look. But Ginny would only stare innocently back at him while slowly rubbing her hand up and down his thigh. And for once, the Great Harry Potter found himself losing a battle he was never going to win. And he knew that when it was finally time to go back home to Grimmauld, he'd have to take another long, long, cold shower.

But he still had a job to do. And no matter how tired he was or how late he finally fell asleep (cold showers were fast losing their efficacy on him), still he woke up early the next morning. He held a brief meeting with the team at the office, sending the men to procure documents and coordinate with other Ministry agencies, including the Muggle Prime Minister's office. Harry was determined to do everything by the book, even going one better. He wanted to do right by Nicholas, at least before his grandfather's eyes, the way the Muggles do it.

Now that they had a name, they tried to dig up as much information on the suspect as they could, which turned out to be quite meager. Britwhistle was a Muggle-born. He was able to attend Hogwarts but only until his fourth year, which would explain the disastrous combination of ingredients in the Potion X used in the Harpies party. Then he was expelled by the school after he was caught using magic to steal from Muggles. Harry had dispatched Matt and Gibbons to check his last known address. From the neighbors the Aurors learned that Britwhistle was an only child, his mother having abandoned him when he was just a baby. Nobody knew her identity and no official record of his father ever having married existed. He grew up largely in the care of his Muggle grandmother, his father, an abusive alcoholic, making an occasional appearance. A few weeks after he was expelled from Hogwarts, Britwhistle's father had disappeared and nobody knew what happened to him though the consensus was that he was dead. Soon after Corey either ran away from home or was cast out by his grandmother. The grandmother had since died. In any case, it was the last anybody had heard of him, until the Potions debacle.

With the preparations complete, Harry and the team travelled back to Lincolnshire, this time armed with an official letter from the Muggle government requesting a supervised interview with Nicholas. They were also accompanied by a witch from the secretary pool to record the minutes of the interview. And, since the Ministry has no Child Services Department, Harry brought a female employee from the Improper Use of Magic Office that more or less served the function.

They travelled in a campervan they used in surveillance operations in the Muggle world. But like magical tents, the converted panel van was more spacious inside than what its outside appearance would suggest. When the sliding door was open, all anyone could see from the outside was the L-shape sofabed, plus a glimpse of a galley kitchen. But what appeared to be the door to the washroom at the back of the van actually led to more rooms inside. It had a spacious His and Hers bathroom, a large conference room, a kitchenette with three dedicated house-elf staff, a mobile office complete with a Flooplace, and even separate sleeping quarters for male and female operatives of the Magical Law Enforcement Department. Harry had the van brought in case the chef's father proved to be uncooperative and he needed to interview the child in a more separate, private environment. Also, Harry wanted to avoid using magic on any of the Smyth-Bothamley family. So he planned to use intimidation by effect, instead.

They arrived at around ten. A quick look through the pub's glassfront windows told them the old man wasn't there. So Harry led the others towards the back. Just as they rounded one of the buildings, the old man emerged from what seemed to be the stables. The chef's father was wearing a rubber apron, a pitchfork in one hand and a bucket in the other. He tensed up at the sight of Harry and his companions and his face acquired the same hard look he'd given Harry the first time they met.

The witch from the Improper Use of Magic took the lead from there, taking a few cautious steps towards the elderly Muggle. "Mr. Martin Smyth? We're from the Ministry. We're here to interview your grandson Nicholas Bothamley." She then handed him the letter from the magistrate court.

The old man read the letter but it was clear from his expression that he didn't trust a word of it. He knew he was dealing with wizards who could easily make him believe he was seeing anything. Why they were taking pains to bother with this charade he did not know. Either way, he had no choice. He handed the letter back to the witch, not saying anything. If they wanted something, he didn't have to make it easier for them.

"Where is Nicholas, Mr. Smyth?" the witch asked.

"He's in the house, doing some studying," he said repressively.

"Mr. Smyth, may we speak with him, please?"

For a moment, Harry thought the old man was going to hurl the pitchfork at them. But then he gave a stiff nod. He stomped back towards the stables and leaned the farm implements on the side of the building. Then without saying a word, he marched back towards what must be the residential part of the property. Harry and the rest assumed that they could follow, and so they did.

The old man reached the house's kitchen door, removing the rubber boots he was wearing before entering the house. He walked inside, shooting his wife a grim look as he did. He left the door open for Harry and the rest. But Harry stood waiting by the door.

Nicholas and Jessica were seated at the kitchen table, their Muggle schoolbooks laid out in front of them. The children were being home-schooled, as most children born to wizarding families were. Harry frowned; Nicholas should have been at Hogwarts by now. At the sight of Harry, Jessica immediately stood up and made to run towards him but Nicholas held her arm back. They weren't supposed to have met him. She stood by the table then, fidgeting with repressed energy, her eyes locked on Harry. Harry looked down the floor, hiding his smile.

"Martin, what is all this?" Mrs. Smyth asked.

Mr. Smyth jerked a head towards Harry and the team. "They said they want to have a word with Nick."

"With Nicholas?" Mrs. Smyth asked, with a bewildered look at her grandson. "But why?"

"That's what I'd like to know myself." Then Mr. Smyth marched to stand on the other side of the room, his arms crossed, as far away from the wizards as possible.

"Well, please don't just stand there. Do come in," Mrs. Smyth said to Harry and his team. "Mr. Potter, isn't it?" she said. "Please forgive my husband. Sometimes he forgets his manners. I usually just chalk it up to old age," she said, smiling kindly. The old man harrumphed.

Having been given leave, Harry then entered the small kitchen, followed by the rest of his team.

"Well, then, what is this all about?" said Mrs. Smyth.

"Mrs. Smyth, we just wanted to ask Nicholas a few questions," said Harry.

"But why?"

Harry hesitated for just the tiniest bit, but realized he'd have to speak directly. "We found a suspect in your daughter's death and we think Nicholas might have some information about him."

"He has?" Mrs. Smyth said, completely surprised. She turned to her grandson. "Nicholas, is this true?" But the boy looked as bewildered as she. He looked up at Harry, and Harry was gratified to see the boy no longer looked at him with distrust.

"Can you help us?" Harry asked Nicholas.

The boy nodded. Harry glanced over at the IUM witch, who then turned to Jessica. "I'm sorry, Jessica – it is Jessica, right? – would you like showing me the rest of the house?"

"Why?" the girl demanded.

But it was her grandmother who answered her. "Jess, sweetheart, perhaps we should leave the room. This is all grown-up talk. We'll just be in the way."

"But I want to stay! I want to know what they're saying!" Jessica cried.

"Me too," said Mrs. Smyth. "But perhaps, not now? Maybe later we'll hear all about it."

"Why can't I stay?" she cried, the jut of her jaw making it clear to everyone in the room that she was not leaving.

At this point Nicholas joined in. "Jess, tell you what, I'll tell you later, okay? You're too noisy and you know I can't think with you around."

"I'll stay quiet. I promise. Look," and she pantomimed zipping her mouth.

"But – "

"Uhm, Ms. Bothamley?" said Harry. Jessica wheeled around, her mouth gaping open at Harry addressing her as if she were a little lady. She smiled shyly up at him. "How about we compromise? You know, make a deal. If you let Nicholas and I speak for awhile, I'll give you a tour of the house I usually stay in whenever I'm abroad."

Her eyes widened at this wondrous prospect. "Your house? How are we going to get there? Are we going to fly?"

"Well, that would have to remain a secret," Harry said with a smile. The said "house" was, as of the moment, inside the mokeskin hanging around his neck. No one outside of Harry's inner circle had seen it.

She began to mull this bargain in her head. "Are you going to do magic while I'm not here?"

"I'm not sure," Harry said, knowing from experience with Teddy and the Weasley grandchildren that when it comes to dealing with children, it's best to just tell the truth.

Jessica turned to Harry's companions. "Does he keep his promises?" she demanded. The others, surprised at this exchange, turned to Harry for what to say. Ray however, raised his forefinger and seemed about to speak up when Harry looked at him sharply, silently promising dire retribution if he so much as opened his mouth. Ray put his hand down immediately.

She turned to Harry once again. "You promise?"

"Auror's honor," Harry said solemnly.

Her doubts seemingly addressed, Jessica grabbed the book Harry had given her and Nicholas, then placed it in the crook of her arm so that the cover of the book showed prominently. She gave Harry a significant look, reminding Harry of their secret. She then took her grandmother's hand and the two of them walked out of the room, Jessica walking like a queen making a rare appearance in the house of parliament. Harry was biting his upper lip to keep himself from smiling.

But the levity disappeared as soon as Jessica left the room.

"I'll be staying here. I am allowed to stay, am I?" growled the chef's father.

Once again, it was the IUM witch who answered him, "It's perfectly fine for you to stay, Mr. Smyth. But please do refrain from interrupting the interview, unless you think there's something important we need to know. Otherwise, we'll have to ask you to leave the room." She then nodded to Harry to signify that they could begin.

"Hey Nicholas, how are you?" Harry said. He gestured at the chair in front of the boy. "May I sit down?" The boy nodded. With a glance at the grandfather, who also gave a stiff nod, Harry sat across in front of Nicholas. He might have to perform Legilimency on the boy to get a clearer picture of his memories and he wanted to do it at eye level. Gavin walked over and handed Harry the case folder. Then Harry began the interview.

"Nicholas, do you remember the last day you saw your mother?"

"Yes." Nicholas frowned. It was in his memory. Did Harry Potter not see it? "She was preparing the food for the Harpies' after-party."

"Do you remember anything unusual that happened on that day? Anything out of the ordinary?"

Nicholas shook his head.

"When your mum was preparing the food, was it just her or did she have any help?"

"Just my mum. But me and Jess helped."

"I see." Harry feigned writing down some notes on the case files. He didn't want to appear he was leading the question. "So it was just the three of you at your house, until she left to deliver the food at the venue?" Harry asked, his eyes on the parchments before him.

Nicholas frowned. "No. The driver of the catering van arrived at about noon, while we were having lunch."

"How do you know it was the driver of the catering van?"

"Because I saw him. When the doorbell rang, mum went to the front hallway to open the door, and I followed her to look, but we were expecting him."

"You were expecting him?" said Harry.

"He always delivers mum's food to her events."

"I see. So this wasn't the first time you've seen the driver?" Nicholas shook his head.

"Does this driver have a name?" Harry asked casually.

"Britwhistle. Corry."

Harry turned his attention to his notes once again. "Would you have any idea where he lives?"

"I only know he lives in London."

Harry tried not to show his disappointment. "You don't have his address?"

"Mum may have written it down in her diary, but it was among the papers that – ," Nicholas trailed off, casting an anxious glance towards his grandfather. _Got burned_, Harry finished the sentence in his head. "He doesn't have anything to do with my mum's death, does he?" Nicholas said anxiously.

Harry gazed at the young boy, knowing the pain it would cause him that he personally knew his mum's killer. "I'm sorry, Nicholas," Harry said quietly.

"But mum didn't do anything wrong, she didn't do anything to him! She was kind to him! She even gave him food she cooked especially for Jess and me – not leftovers from the party," Nicholas cried, brushing away angry tears from his eyes.

The chef's father was following this conversation like a spectator at a tennis match, his eyes and head swiveling back and forth from Harry to Nicholas. Finally, he caught the gist of what they were saying and he spoke up.

"What are you talking about? What man? What driver?"

But Nicholas still found it too difficult to talk, his head still lowered. His grandfather walked over to him and laid a hand on Nick's shoulder.

"Not the driver of the Transit?" the old man spoke into the silent room.

Harry turned to the chef's father, his forehead creased. "You know him?"

"Know him? Of course, I know him!" cried the old man. "He's been working for my daughter for, what now, two years? Isn't it Nicholas? He's not involved in my daughter's death?"

"We do not yet have proof, but yes, he is the prime suspect," said Harry.

"Then why don't you arrest him then?" the chef's father demanded.

"That's why we're here, Mr. Smyth. We're trying to find out where he lives."

"You mean you don't know?"

Harry shook his head.

"But I know where he lives!" said the old man. "He lives in East London, in a council tower block." He looked at the faces of the wizards before him, who were waiting for him to elaborate. "It was last April. My daughter dropped the kids here one night all in a panic. She said there was going to be a big game the next day but she couldn't get in touch with the driver who was supposed to deliver the food. She had already paid the downpayment. She couldn't get any delivery vans so late because everyone was fully booked. She said she had to go see this person and I offered to drive her. She couldn't bring me magically, but no way I was going to let my daughter go to some stranger's house at night and me not knowing anything. So I drove her, and she helped the car along, you know, magically. And we got there in less than two hours."

"But she didn't know the exact address, and we drove around for a while until we finally found the right building. I wouldn't have dared go there at any time day or night. But my daughter said no one was going to bother us, that no one would notice us unless they're magical, and no one did. My daughter kept waving her wand and this white thing would come out. She called it her _patron saint _or something. She said it's supposed to let this Britwhistle bloke know that we're there. That that is how wizards communicate."

"I remember the building. Because the idiot made us wait for an hour before he came down to see us. He wouldn't even let us up. We stayed there in the parking lot, waiting for him to get down and see us. And when I saw him, I didn't like him at all. I didn't trust him then. I told my daughter, 'You know, I don't like the look of this git, looks scruffy as hell.' But she said she couldn't get anyone else, that he's the cheapest. That your people don't normally drive, and there are very few magical transports for hire. But she needed to, because she didn't dare magic the food to the venue. She's careful that way – my daughter," he said, an unmistakable note of pride in his voice. "She said food is one of the few things that you can't play around with magic."

"Mr. Smyth, this is really important. Do you still remember exactly where he lives?"

"It was dark. But I'm sure I can still find my way around there," the old man said, hitching up his trousers.

"Will you please come with us and help us find his address?" Harry did not want to perform memory extraction on the chef's father, the process was a lot more difficult and dangerous in Muggles, their brains not receptive to the magic.

The old man clammed up at once, his hands twitching on his side. He still did not trust these wizards one whit. Nothing good had ever come ever since he learned his daughter was one. Instead of attending the local comprehensive as they had originally planned, Tammy spent most of the year in her school in faraway Scotland. Her husband was killed for no reason than being born to magicless people. Tammy and her children would have been too if they hadn't fled the country. And yet in the end, his daughter too was killed. If he came with these people, who was to say that he wouldn't be killed as well? And he with no magic and all. He still had a wife and grandchildren to look after.

Nicholas watched his grandfather struggling to make a decision and feared the outcome. "Grandpa, please," he pleaded. "You'll be helping catch mum's killer."

The old man looked at his grandson's earnest face. Then he seemed to brace himself up, then nodded grimly. He had not been a coward his entire life, he was not going to start being one now.

The entire room seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. Harry wouldn't have to batter the man's brains out as memory extraction, and even Legilimency, were known to cause brain inflammation in Muggles.

"Can I come?" Nicholas pleaded.

It was an official operation but Harry could see no problem with the boy coming. He would not be in the way and Nicholas and his grandfather would be staying in the van at all times. He turned to Gibbons, who nodded once. Then Harry turned to the IUM witch, seemingly asking her opinion as well.

"If there is no danger, and if his guardians would allow it," she said, looking at the chef's father. Harry turned to the old man as well, waiting for his decision.

The old man was surprised. It was obvious that despite his youth, Potter outranked the other wizards and witches. And yet the young man still deferred to the other Ministry employees – and to him! He rubbed his mouth roughly, feeling a bit ashamed for the way he had acted towards the young man.

Beside him, Nicholas began tugging at his waist. "Please, Grandpa."

The old man asked Harry directly. "Is there any danger?"

Harry made one small shake of the head.

The witch thought it best to elaborate. "We'd be with Mr. Potter, Mr. Smyth. We can be in no safer place than with him."

The old man, reassured, nodded. Nicholas hugged his grandfather, who grunted roughly and mussed up the boy's hair.

Harry and Matt walked back to the table. Harry conjured a Muggle map and they consulted with Mr. Smyth. The old man knew which council estate, but he would have to be there to identify in which building the suspect lived.

Having a rough idea of their destination, they made ready to leave. The old man put his jacket and outdoor shoes on and grabbed his cap from a nearby stand. Then they walked out from the kitchen and into the living room where they found Jessica and her grandmother waiting.

As soon as Jessica caught sight of Harry, she dropped her grandmother's hand and pelted towards him, hugging him round the waist and beaming up at him. Harry saw for the first time that she was missing a tooth. He laughed – she looked so adorable. Her grandparents looked nonplussed at how familiar their granddaughter was acting towards Harry.

Harry and the rest then left but Ray stayed behind to look after Jessica and her grandmother. They all travelled in the campervan, with Matt and Gavin in the front of the van, and the old man, Nicholas, and Harry behind them.

Though Nicholas had ridden once on the Knight Bus, this was the first time the old man had ridden in a truly magical vehicle. Both their eyes were popping as towns and villages, fields, pastures, cities whizzed by, the old man's mouth wide open as he watched houses jumping out of the way and trees and electric poles uprooting themselves to avoid getting hit by the car. And the Ministry van gave a far smoother ride than the Knight Bus ever did. Faster, too: In less than thirty minutes they were in London.

When they reached the housing estate where the suspect lived, they had to make several passes round before the old man finally found the right tower block where Britwhistle lived.

"Are you sure, Mr. Smyth?" said Harry.

The old man peered round the street they were slowly driving through. "Yes, yes. I'm sure, because there – right there," he pointed at a graffiti-ridden wall, "them's writing I recognize." And he recited a rude writing on the wall and finished the sentence even before they could drive near enough for anyone inside the van to read the graffiti fully. Mr. Smyth seemed rather pleased with himself at this until he saw his grandson gaping at him. He smiled self-consciously and then mussed Nick's hair again.

The Aurors noted the particular building, and then Harry asked Gavin to take them to Diagon Alley. Gavin parked right in front of the Leaky Cauldron, and the old man, seeing where they had been brought, blinked his eyes rapidly as he remembered the first time he and his wife took their daughter to buy her school supplies decades ago. She was so excited and happy back then.

They all went to the back of the van with Matt hurrying off to Floo the Ministry to check Muggle records for the list of registered occupants of the tower block. While they waited, Harry and the rest of the team had their lunch, feasting on a virtual smorgasbord of grilled steak sandwiches, peppered tuna steaks with mushroom sauce, smoked salmon sandwich, welsh rarebit, and many other dishes. The van's kitchen staff had very little occasion to serve anyone, and went a bit overboard.

While they were eating, the old man kept looking around the conference room where they were having their lunch. He could not believe that such a large place could fit into the van. As the meal progressed, Harry, who ate quietly, felt the old man repeatedly looking at him. Once or twice, the old man opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it once again. They were almost at the end of the meal when at last the old man found his voice.

"Mr. Potter, my grandson received his school letter last summer. But with everything that happened, well … I was wondering if – if – if — "

Taking pity on the old man, Harry finished for him. "If Nicholas can still attend Hogwarts?"

Nicholas's head jerked up, his eyes becoming hopeful.

"I won't make any promises, Mr. Smyth, but I will do everything I can to make sure that Nicholas went to Hogwarts." Harry was loath to call in any favors, but he didn't mind asking Professor McGonagall for this one. "It's still early since school started and I think Nicholas won't have a hard time catching up with his schoolwork."

"So Nicholas can still go to that magic school?" the old man said. "It's what my daughter would want," the old man added with a catch in his voice.

"I'll do my best," said Harry, but the look and smile he gave Nicholas was assured.

"That's as good as a yes," the IUM witch said kindly to Nick.

"Have you any schoolbooks?" asked Harry.

Nicholas shook his head. Harry suspected that the Bothamley couples' old school books were among the burnt pile of documents.

"It doesn't matter. If you want, you can get your schoolbooks now," said Harry. He then asked Gibbons and the IUM witch to contact Bill at Gringotts then accompany Nicholas and his grandfather to get his schoolbooks and school supplies from Diagon Alley. Bill would coordinate with both the Ministry and Harpies management for the necessary funds. Hearing this, the old man started to object but Harry made a slight shake of his head.

"Mr. Smyth, I hope you don't take this the wrong way. But this is not charity. There is reward money for any information leading to the identification or arrest of any suspect in this case."

"But I didn't do it for the money."

"I know you did not, Mr. Smyth. And the more I respect you for it. If anybody deserves the reward, it's you. But if you're not willing to accept the reward for your own benefit, then do it for your grandchildren. Anyway, even if you do not accept it, Nicholas' share will be placed in an escrow account until he's of legal age."

Nicholas and his grandfather could only stare at each other.

"It's the least we can do for all your help," said Harry gently. "Without you, this case would never have been solved."

Just then, Matt returned with a stack of parchments in one hand and his half-eaten sandwich in another. "There's no record of a Corry Britwhistle living in the building," he said. But it didn't mean anything. Britwhistle could have easily tampered with the Muggles' records. But it was also a signal for Harry and the rest of the team to get cracking.

They all stood up from the table. Harry held out his hand to the old man who shook it.

"Mr. Potter, I'm sorry about the way I acted bef– " Mr. Smyth but Harry cut him off.

"Mr. Smyth, you don't have to say anything. There was nothing you have done that any grieving father would not do. I completely understand," Harry said.

The old man nodded, rubbing a finger under his nose.

Harry then turned to Nicholas, shaking the boy's hand as well.

"Nicholas. Tell Jessica I'll drop by your house one of these days. Tell her I won't forget my promise."

Gibbons and the Ministry witch then left with Nicholas and his grandfather for Diagon Alley, Harry asking Gibbons and the witch to buy something for Jessica as well. When they had gone, he discussed wih Matt and Gavin on what to do next. Harry knew not to scope the building as a Transfigured animal, he would just be target practice for anyone inside with a gun, air or otherwise. They couldn't clear the Muggles out either, as they didn't want to spook the suspect if he was there. In the end, they decided to investigate the building, floor by floor. Flat by flat, if necessary.

They went in Disillusioned, with Harry performing the spell on the two other Aurors to give them absolute invisibility and to make the charm last indefinitely. He also enveloped the entire building with powerful anti-Apparation and anti-Portkey spells to foil any escape attempt by the suspect.

Then they entered the building. In the lobby, bottles of beer and rubbish littered the floor and the powerful smell of urine, which seemed to emanate from the very walls, assaulted them.

Harry was banking on the likelihood that Britwhistle would cast anti-Muggle charms on his flat, like he did his van, to make their search easier. Harry would check for the presence of magic first. If he didn't find the suspect in the first sweep, then they would have to check the building room by room. All fifteen floors of it.

So Harry, Matt and Gavin set about checking each floor, with Harry wishing he'd worked better on accomplishing that fireball Transfiguration he'd seen Fr. Lockefeer do. It would have been very useful now. But too late. He'd long ago thought of flying like Voldemort. But no, just no.

Once or twice, as they searched the building, they encountered a Muggle and they had to stop, standing very still, until the Muggle left. They moved quietly, slowly, with Harry resorting to physical means to check for magic. It was possible that the suspect had installed charms to alert him if magic had been performed anywhere in the building by a wizard other than himself.

It was on the thirteenth floor that Harry finally found it: A sliver of magic in between an exposed plumbing pipe and a wall in the stairwell. Still Disillusioned, Harry started to study the magic more closely. It was a Fidelius Charm, but inexpertly made. He leaned his head, listening for sounds, but could hear nothing. He felt for more magic, but it was very faint.

He took out his phoenix wand and made three tiny pinpoints of green light flicker on its tip in rapid succession – the group's agreed upon signal. Seconds later, he ended the Disillusionment spell. On each end of the floor, Matt and Gavin too appeared. They quietly approached Harry who was standing before the wall that opened to the fire escape stairwell.

Harry pointed to the tiny space between the plumbing pipe and the wall. Then he started to perform the magic that would reveal the presence of the Fidelius Charm. He waved his wand once, and a tiny line of bluish light appeared.

Matt quickly checked his list and found a flat was missing on this floor. The room beside it was a three-bedroom flat, unlike the other floors below, which were either one- or two-bedroom apartments.

Casting anti-Muggle charms on the floor so that they would not be disturbed, Harry began dismantling the ward, which turned out to be quite easy to tear down. Brute force would have done it. Harry needed only to get a tiny foothold in and he would be able to completely undo the Fidelius charm.

He started with the sliver of light, wrenching it open, trying to make the line of blue light wide enough for him to squeeze at least the upper part of his body in. It took him only a few minutes to create such an opening. Then he inserted his wand into the opening and fired a quick _Immobilus Totalum _charm into the room inside. (What is he? A stupid wanker who went around putting his head into spaces when he has no idea what's on the other side? Ginny would scalp him!) Then he nodded back to the other two Aurors and started to squeeze his body into the opening he had made. He had barely placed his head a few inches inside when he caught the stale smell of decay in the air. He pulled back immediately and with a wave of his hand blunted his sense of smell – not a lot that it would completely mask the odor inside but just enough if the smell became too overpowering. He then instructed Matt and Gavin to do the same.

He tried anew and this time he was able to squeeze his entire body into the flat. He checked the flat for the presence of anyone inside and his spell came back negative. He then undid the locks of the door behind him, allowing Matt to enter. Gavin, however, he instructed to stay outside and watch the door.

The entire flat was crammed floor to ceiling with Philip's appliances. In the living room alone, TVs, computers, and other electronic equipments were piled helter skelter so that there was not an inch of floor space that Harry could place a foot down. But they couldn't move the appliances either, for it had now become a crime scene – every bit of item they found in the flat would have to be tagged and labeled as evidence.

Matt turned to him. "Now's a good time to fly," he said, pushing up his eyeglasses. Even the staid and methodical Matt was not immune to the appeal of seeing Harry perform unusual feats of magic. Harry shook his head, but nevertheless Transfigured into a dragonfly. He needed to be fast, quiet, and small, to offer as little a target as possible in case anyone had somehow managed to evade his _Homenum Revelio_ spell.

He made one cursory sweep through the entire flat, which was a two–bedroom affair, the rest of the space as equally chocked up with appliances as the living room. There were still food left on the kitchen table and dishes left unwashed in the kitchen sink. The entire flat seemed to be sealed from the outside, the reason why the fetor hang about in the air. The doors to the bedrooms were open and in one of them he found the source of the rotting smell. Lying on the bed was a fully decomposed body so that only the hair and the skeleton remained.

Harry then Transfigured back into human. There was more space inside the room and he could freely move about. He made a cursory inspection of the body. There was no physical evidence of injury or foul play, which meant very little in the Magical world. (The Avada Kedavra curse, the Wizarding World's deadliest spell, does not leave a mark.) Harry thought the black hair on the skeleton looked the same as the suspect had in the Penseive memories. But that was all. There was no way to tell that indeed this was the body of Corry Britwhistle. A DNA test would be pointless because they didn't have a sample to compare it with – not from the suspect, nor from a relative. None of the neighbors knew where his grandmother had been interred. The only possible way he could think of would be through facial reconstruction techniques, both magical and Muggle, and that could take several weeks. Harry sighed. He would have to wait for the findings of the Forensic Division to know for certain.

And yet he was fully aware that this thing could be a complete set up: To make the suspect appear dead and so make good his escape from the law. But this was one case Harry was determined to follow through to the end. It had become too personal.

"Harry, is everything alright?" Matt's voice drifted in from the living room.

"Everything's fine," Harry called out.

"So, have you found anything?"

Harry went out of the bedroom then and called in both Matt and Gavin. They then began carefully inspecting the rooms. In the bedroom alone, they found several hidden compartments, all containing galleons and some packets of Illegal Potions, including Muggle drugs. And in the trash bins both inside the bedroom and in the kitchen were empty cellophane bags that Harry was sure had been used for packaging the Illegal drugs.

Then they started expanding their search to the other rooms. Their progress, however, was hampered by the ever present jumble of electronic gadgets and appliances. Harry then took a closer look at the items. Why did the suspect keep the appliances? From the galleons they had found so far, surely the suspect could very well afford to throw these things away? After all, they were worth very little, almost next to nothing, in fact. Then Harry noticed that some of the TVs had their back housings removed, the same with the other appliances as well. He crouched down in front of a stack of appliances, frowning. He did not understand. Was the suspect trying to fix the damned things?

He positioned one of the TVs with an open back closer for his inspection. He ran a hand inside the housing and felt a slight tingle of magic. It did not surprise him; the appliances had been marketed to work even without electricity. He continued to stare at the TV's electronic innards, thinking. He ran his hand again, minutely examining every inch of the TV. Then he realized that magic was present on both the inner sides of the TV housing, which didn't make sense if they just wanted the TV to run. The magic should have been concentrated on the electronic board. He made a pass again, then thought for a minute. An idea was starting to form inside his head. He then Summoned one of the empty cellophane bags from the trash bin. He caught it in mid-air, then he brought the plastic to one of the sides – brought closer but not close enough to touch. The bag immediately flew from his hand, like magnet it was drawn to the side of the TV housing and stuck there. He Summoned another empty plastic bag, and did the same on the other side of the TV housing. The same thing happened.

By now, both Matt and Gavin were standing over his shoulder, watching what he was doing. When they realized what was happening, they repeated the same experiment on the other appliances. Harry did the same. In every test, the cellophane packs stuck to the sides of the appliances' inner housing like a Goblin to a piece of metallic heirloom wrought by an ancestor.

However, in some of the appliances, they found packets of Illegal Potions that had not been completely removed. And that they looked partially burned. Following a hunch, Harry asked for one of the packets of powder they found in the hidden compartments in the bedroom. He let it hang suspended in the air. Then he started to simulate the heat the appliances would generate if turned on and applied it to the air around the packet. In minutes the plastic began to melt, the powder it contained turning into gas, the air gradually filling with the odor of the Illegal Potion.

Harry looked around the room, full comprehension dawning. The suspect was using the appliances, the TVs, to smuggle the Potions into the country. The Muggles would not know to check for them. And although sniffer dogs would be able to detect their presence, they would only be confused by the unfamiliar smells. Some of the magical ingredients affected the electronics and that was what probably caused some of the units to malfunction. But it did not matter. By his rough calculation, the value of the Illegal Potions smuggled was worth two thousand times more than the cost of the entire inventory of appliances.

But also, the appliances were designed to turn their dangerous cargo into smoke, which if inhaled, would make for a regular Illegal Potions user.

In other words, the suspect or suspects were trying to hit two birds with one stone: Importing Illegal Potions and creating users.

And these were the appliances imported by Philip. Philip Rawlings who approached George to sell these appliances to the Wizarding population. Philip who had gotten Ginny pregnant….

…and dying….

The other two Aurors felt the deadly chill of Harry's anger, though the young Auror kept his face hidden from them.

There was a boarded up fireplace in the room. And Harry set about clearing it so he could turn it into a Flooplace. Matt and Gavin helped, as well, working silently beside him. They'd seldom seen Harry angry, and they didn't want to catch the fall-out when he did. They found three more hidden compartments in the fireplace – all containing galleons: one up the chimney flue, one under the hearth, and another one hidden under the ashpit. Finally, Harry deemed the fireplace usable enough, and he cast the charms to change the fireplace into Floo.

Soon Ministry people came trickling into the flat – people from his own department, but mostly from the Evidence and Forensics division. Harry watched sullenly as people went in and out of the room, documenting, tagging, carrying off each piece of evidence. He wished he could simply Banish the entire contents of the flat to the Ministry's Evidence room. But no, he had to stay and supervise everything. He also had to wait until the entire flat had been cleared, to make sure there were no more hidden compartments. Damn! It would take all night. Likely he'd be here until afternoon of the next day. And he was supposed to accompany Ginny to her Healer's appointment in the morning. _Damn! Damn! Damn!_

It was Hermione's idea to set up the Forensics Division in the Ministry to prevent what happened to Marvin Gaunt and Hepzibah Smith's house-elf from ever happening again. And he heartily supported it. But if he had known it would bite him in the ass one day, he would never have lent his support to Hermione's bill.

Harry sighed. He stared and looked at the fireplace morosely, hated himself for having to make this call. But he had no choice. He would have to tell Ginny he wouldn't be able to visit tonight or accompany her to her Healer's appointment the next morning.

~•~

Ginny was drying her long red hair with a converted Muggle hairdryer, her mum performing the magic that months ago she herself could do without thinking. But for once it did not annoy her. Harry would be arriving soon and she had to get ready.

Finally, she straightened up and looked at her reflection in the mirror. She splayed her hand on her stomach. The muscles around her abdomen had hardened slightly — the only noticeable sign of her growing baby. Soon, though, her belly would swell to the size of a melon – not sexy at all!

She didn't know what was going to happen, if Philip truly were the father of the baby. But for once, she wanted to be happy. For years she'd been saving herself for Harry. She'd always wanted him to be her first. Although, technically, she was no longer a virgin, but did it still count if you couldn't remember a thing about it? And now, while she still had the Menat necklace's protection, while she still had the strength, she so desperately wanted to be with him. And she was doing everything she could to make him agree, but Harry was not budging at all! Tonight would be another chance for her to change his mind, though. And she was determined to succeed.

She was particularly excited about tomorrow. She was due for another Healer's appointment, and she and Harry were going to talk about the arrangements. They already talked about meeting up with her dad for lunch. Then they would drop her mum off at George's shop and she and Harry would go to Muggle London for her first pregnancy shopping. She hadn't done any, not when nobody was sure if she would even wake up the next morning. But now she needed maternity clothes for herself and stuff for the baby, and Harry was coming with her! Did Harry realize that this would be their first date of sorts? Ginny couldn't wait.

She remembered, too, the first time Harry had accompanied her to the Healer's office.

At first, Harry sensed that she was unenthusiastic about him coming along but she refused to tell him why. But they were about to leave, and if they didn't leave soon, they would be late for the appointment. Finally, after much needling, Ginny mumbled that the Healer would have to do some tests.

_What test?_

_Tests_!

Harry was absolutely flummoxed. He turned to Mrs. Weasley for help, but she seemed to have disappeared. He looked back down at Ginny, who was keeping her head bowed. It seemed he was supposed to know something but he just didn't have any clue as to what.

"Ginny, you have to help me here. I don't understand. What test?"

Finally, Ginny mumbled, "Pregnancy tests." She peeked up through her lashes at him. "The Healer's office has privacy charms but I know you'll come with me inside anyway. I just know it. I don't want you to look."

Harry did not understand. Wasn't it the point of this whole outing? But looking at Ginny, her head bowed, he started to have some idea as to what Ginny was so anxious about. Although why it should matter, he had no idea. Though they weren't yet intimate, this was different. He would always be there for her Healer's appointments, and Ginny would have to get used to the idea of him being somewhat familiar with her body. It would be entirely purely clinical in setting of course — though he guessed nothing would stop him from fantasizing about it later on.

In the end, Harry offered to Transfigure himself into a Jack Russell terrier, instead of Disillusioning himself as he had originally planned. He'd stay in the lounge area, or even by the door of the clinic, if Ginny wanted, in plain view of the receptionist. Also, that way, he wouldn't feel awkward riding shotgun, with Mrs. Weasley on the driver's wheel, or worse, him sitting in the backseat of the car. (For obvious reasons, they were still keeping their relationship quiet; Harry had not even told Kingsley about it.) Ginny could carry him in her lap.

Which turned out to be a HUGE mistake.

Happy to find Harry patiently waiting outside the Healer's office, Ginny grabbed dog-Harry up and almost smothered him with hugs and kisses. Ginny proceeded to do so even when they were already outside on the street, causing a couple of Muggle teenagers passing by to remark "Get a room!" "Do you mean a dog pound?" and the Muggles walked away laughing.

But Ginny didn't care. Harry had been so patient, so kind, willing to put up with anything just to accommodate her wishes. She laughed heartily instead and breathed into Harry's ear: "Bet you loved hearing that, didn't you?" Thereafter, on the Ford's careful drive home, Ginny continued to hug dog-Harry or run her fingers lightly through his hair. Dog-Harry, however, had become strangely still and quiet. She kept trying the dog to nestle its head on her chest, but dog-Harry absolutely refused, keeping his neck ramrod–straight. Once or twice the dog would look up at her reproachfully but Ginny only responded by rubbing her nose into the dog's hair.

When they finally reached the Burrow, the dog immediately bolted from her lap as soon as Ginny opened the car's door. Harry Transfigured himself back to human at once, looking at Ginny disapprovingly.

Her mum had gotten out ahead and fled into the house, but Ginny took her time getting out of the car. Though her bump still didn't show, she normally wore a dress to her Healer's appointment. Her hemline was just above the knee. She lowered her leg out of the car, showing a lot of skin. She beamed up at Harry, but he turned his head away out into the trees surrounding the Burrow.

"Aren't you going to help me?" Ginny asked.

Harry returned his gaze to her, eyes narrowed, but nevertheless walked over to her and held out his hand. Ginny took it, running her fingers lightly in his palm as she did. As soon as she was out of the car Harry dropped her hand as if scalded. He marched back a few feet away from her, keeping his distance.

Somehow, Ginny got it into her head that she felt something crawling up her thigh. So she hiked up her skirt to see what it was, lifting it just that much higher because she couldn't very well bend down, could she? She was a pregnant woman! So she looked and looked and looked, her bare skin in full display. _Hhhhhmmmm_. Nothing. It was probably just an insect or something.

But apparently Harry had had enough. He marched right towards the back door of the Burrow, leaned his head inside, and spoke.

"Mum? I'm really sorry but I can't join you for lunch."

Ginny heard her mum's disappointed reply from inside the house.

"It's just that something came up."

"Well if you're sure," said Mrs. Weasley.

Harry then turned, walked back to Ginny, and stood in front of her. "You better get inside," he said.

"Why? Leaving so soon?" Ginny purred.

"Something came up."

"Really?" Ginny slowly raked her eyes along his body from his feet up. "I wonder _what _came up?"

Behind Harry, the Ford let out a honking noise, like a donkey braying.

"You better get inside," Harry repeated.

"What? Don't I get a goodbye kiss?" she asked him innocently. And she was determined to get her kiss, too, no matter what. So she lifted her head challengingly to him, daring him. Harry drew nearer and leaned towards her. For one glorious second, she thought he was going in for the kill. Instead, Harry very lightly brushed his lips on her cheek, so light that she did not almost feel it. So disappointed was she that she whispered into his ear. "That's right, Potter. Shower it down."

Harry stood back, slowly rubbing his jaw with his finger. He gave her a penetrating gaze, promising she would someday get her just comeuppance. But Ginny thrilled at the look Harry was giving her, her toes curling in anticipation.

"Get inside," was all Harry said, but the way he said it, he might as well have been caressing her body. She took a step forward, thinking of kissing him goodbye but suddenly she found his stag standing in between them.

For a moment, Ginny was distracted by the fact that his Patronus was so real, so tangible, so, well, _corporeal_. She scowled at Harry. It wasn't fair! The stag started gently pushing her back towards the house, Harry following closely behind, but still keeping his distance. Soon Ginny found herself inside the Burrow's kitchen, with Harry's Patronus standing guard by the door. It stayed there for some time, until Harry had Apparated home to Grimmauld.

Ginny smiled as she brushed her long hair back and thought of Harry arriving in an hour. _We'll see who'll win this time around_, she thought. _I'm not a Weasley for nothing._

However, her reverie was broken by her mum calling from downstairs.

"Ginny! Harry's on the Floo! He wants to talk to you!"

~•~

AN: (toothless grin)

as to Ginny's behavior at the Burrow. (I don't know how to explain it anywhere but here.) Not having had sex, she has really no concept of her actions unlike Harry who's a guy and is already experienced. For him, certain actions lead directly to something else. In any case both of them are aware deep down inside that they can't really have sex. Ginny's life is on the line. So really Ginny's just teasing, and believe it or not, it's quite innocent on her part. lol.

Also, it took me some time to understand the look Harry was giving Ginny when he was rubbing his jaw. I can see the scene clearly in my mind, but I didn't know how to describe it. It's only after reediting this chapter that I realize that Harry was essentially telling Ginny (very smugly): Do you really wanna have sex, Ginny? Because you know I can do it...(lol)

But of course he won't. Ginny's life is on the line. :)


	15. Chapter 15

HARRY POTTER AND THE NECKLACE OF MENAT

Chapter 15

It was almost nine o'clock when they finished processing every item inside the flat. Harry watched as a Ministry worker brought the last bag of evidence through the Floo. And yet the work did not end there for him. He couldn't leave until the work was finished. He still had to check every nook and cranny of the now empty flat for hidden panels. Checking for traces of magic was a skill he alone could do, having directly learned it from Dumbledore. And if Hermione, Bill, and Percy had not learned to do it in all these years they spent close to Harry, hard to imagine anybody ever could.

He found three such panels underneath the floor, containing more galleons and Illegal Potions. And as he gathered all the money and the drugs into one bag, a thought came into his head. With all that money, why did the suspect stay in this building? Wouldn't he have been able to afford a more expensive flat? And why did Britwhistle deal with smalltime, hand-to-hand Illegal Potions in Knockturn Alley? And why work for Angela Bothamley as a part-time driver? Harry could only come to one conclusion – the Potions and the galleons did not belong to the suspect.

Matt came up to him then and offered him a fresh cup of coffee while Harry handed over the bags of galleons and Potions to Matt, who was looking neat and refreshed despite working with Harry since yesterday morning. Sometime around midnight, Ray and Gibbons arrived to relieve Matt and Gavin's shifts, who then returned an hour ago to take over. But Harry had to stay to oversee operations.

Harry took a sip from the cup, his hands slightly shaking. He was just doggone tired. Just the walk up the thirteen – _that's thirteen!_ – flight of stairs was enough to drain anyone's energy. The back of his legs were still stiff and sore from all that climbing, not to mention the magic he had been doing since yesterday afternoon.

And he hadn't had much sleep for two days straight now either. He only had a couple of half hour breaks throughout the night. At one a.m., he had to step out for a while to search for Britwhistle's van which he knew must be parked somewhere nearby. He found it three blocks away, unnoticed and unseen by Muggles, but not by him - even from thirty feet up in the air (he'd transfigured himself as a bird once again). Unlike the flat though, Harry could magically seal and transport the van for later processing in the Ministry. A small mercy he was thankful for.

Then at three o'clock they were finally able to clear enough space to allow moving the body. But the Ministry worker who was going to do the facial reconstruction gave them a hard time. At first, he questioned whether Harry was capable of making an exact copy of the specimen. Then he insisted on measuring every inch of the skeleton to make sure everything was accurate to an inch. He also insisted that Harry did multiple Geminioed copies instead of just one other that would be sent to the Muggles. It was quite obvious to everyone in the room that the man was milking the chance to work with Harry for all it was worth for bragging rights later on. Ray was all for hexing the fastidious prick and for once, Harry did not object. Still he complied with the Ministry worker's request and made several Geminioed skeletons until the latter declared himself satisfied.

And yet, all of this time his mind kept straying back to Ginny. Despite valiantly trying to hide her disappointment when he told her he wouldn't be able to make it yesterday and to her Healer's appointment today, Harry nevertheless saw it in the slight stoop of her shoulders, heard the trace of it in her voice. And he only now just remembered: They were supposed to meet up with Mr. Weasley after her check-up and then he and Ginny would go to Muggle London to shop for pregnancy gear for both her and the baby. _Fuck! What a mess he has made of things._

He looked at the time. It was half past ten in the morning. He wondered if Ginny was finished with her Healer's appointment. Likely. The last time took only less than an hour. What he wasn't sure of was whether she went through with the original plan of meeting with Mr. Weasley then shopping in Muggle London, now with just her mum.

Perhaps he ought to send her a Patronus. But he felt just about done in. He just didn't have the energy to search for her. He would just have to go directly to the Burrow and wait for her there. He'd probably collapse on their living room sofa. But he didn't think Mrs. Weasley would mind. Hope Ginny wasn't too angry with him.

Handing over the securing of the premises to Matt and Gavin, Harry then started firing up the Floo. The fire flared up once, then flickered and died. Frowning, he tried again, and the same thing happened. Harry looked at his wand. Was his magic failing him for the first time? Was he that tired? Perhaps he shouldn't have done all those skeleton Geminios – not when he was already completely worn-out. He tried again, and again the fire fizzled out. But he was determined to go to the Burrow. On the fourth try he finally succeeded in forcing the connection to the Burrow's Floo port.

Fearing the Floo would drop the connection again soon, Harry swiftly stepped into the fire, closing his mouth firmly. He didn't want bits and chunks of sick flying off through the Floo into unsuspecting people's living rooms. Finally, he emerged into the Burrow's kitchen. He had to take a moment to calm his stomach down, a hand on his abdomen. He looked up and to his pleasant surprise, found Ginny and Mrs. Weasley home, both wearing equally surprised faces. Ginny must have seen the tiredness written all over his face for she rushed over to him and hugged him tightly. There was no trace of annoyance or of her own disappointment and Harry gratefully hugged her back.

They broke apart and she looked up at him. "You look like hell," she said, the teasing words in contrast to the worried expression on her face.

"It's nothing. I'm just tired. I just need to take a rest; I'll be fine soon," said Harry, and he meant it. Just seeing Ginny made him feel a lot better and he started to forget all about his fatigue. "I wasn't sure if you're home," he added after a while. "I thought you might have gone to Muggle London."

Ginny shook her head. "No. I didn't want to go without you. Perhaps later, when you have time."

"How about your lunch with Dad?"

Ginny hid her face away from him then. "I wasn't feeling well. Mum and I just dropped by Dad's office and then we went straight home. Dad was a real sport about it, too. He took a raincheck."

Harry watched the top of Ginny's head as she spoke to his navel and fiddled with a button in his shirt."I'm really sorry, Ginny. I'll make time, I promise. I'll take a day off tomorrow. I'm owed it."

"We don't have to do it tomorrow," Ginny said, looking up. "It can wait. But first, we must get you well," she said, and the sparkle in her eyes was back as she seized at the chance to bully him.

"I _am _well," Harry emphatically said. "I'm just tired."

Ginny arched an eyebrow and with a smirk, started pulling him back to the kitchen table. Right now, between the two of them, she seemed to be the stronger one. "Have you had breakfast?" she said, looking over her shoulder. Harry shook his head.

Mrs. Weasley then came up to him and kissed him on the cheek. "What would you like to eat?" she asked kindly. Harry didn't think he could keep any solid food down and told Mrs. Weasley so. She served him hot soup instead, fondly patting him on the cheek after placing the bowl in front of him.

Harry then ate quietly while Ginny sat beside him and Mrs. Weasley made a fresh batch of burn-healing paste for Charlie and Freddie (and for him and Ron, as well). From time to time, Ginny would lean in to say a word or two, and Harry would murmur an answer back. All the time that he was eating, she never removed her hand from his thigh and Harry was grateful for the silent comfort it gave. Soon, Harry found his tiredness and sleepiness ebbing away.

Halfway through the meal, Harry felt sufficiently better and he began to secretly check his magic. There was a Quidditch magazine on the table not far from him. Harry glanced at the cover, which featured Gwendolyn Morgan, the Harpies captain that led the team to its victory over the Heidelberg Harriers in nineteen fifty-three. Without using a wand, or even lifting a hand, Harry began to make the patterns on Morgan's clothes move – first making the individual patterns change their shapes and colors, then making them form elaborate geometric formations. The magic involved was highly advanced, doing so wandlessly, even more complicated. If he failed, it would tell him the extent of the damage to his magic. To his relief, the magic worked perfectly, without any lag. Guess, he was indeed just tired.

Feeling sufficiently recovered – but not from sleepiness, Harry realized – he now turned his full attention to Ginny. They sat there for a time, whispering to each other, not really talking about anything. And every time Mrs. Weasley's back was turned to them, Harry would kiss Ginny's face – her cheek, her eyelids, her forehead. Mrs. Weasley probably knew what he was doing, but he didn't care.

CRASH!

Harry sprang straight up, his phoenix wand in his hand. Outside, the Ford roared, its wheels screaming, coming hard and fast towards the backdoor. He instinctively looked up at the family clock: Mrs. Weasley's and Ginny's hands were both pointing to Mortal Peril.

In a couple of strides, he was already standing by the door. He looked through the screen door and saw the Ford parked right in front of him, the passenger doors facing the house widely open.

He looked cautiously outside, scanning the fields just outside the Burrow's wards. He saw nothing. But the Ford and the family clock could not both be lying or malfunctioning at the same time.

"Harry what's happening? What's going on?" Mrs. Weasley's anxious voice sounded behind him. He glanced back – Mrs. Weasley now stood beside Ginny, a wand in her hand, clutching her daughter close.

"I'm not sure," Harry muttered.

He hurried across the room towards the fireplace and quickly grabbed a handful of Floo powder that he then threw into the fire. It flared to life but immediately died down as if it had no room to expand to, the same way it did half an hour earlier back in Britwhistle's flat. Damn it! He wasn't tired! Someone must have already been messing with the Burrow's Floo connection when he tried to come in earlier, he just didn't recognize it. The possibility did not even occur to him. It was simply unthinkable. There were alarms in the Burrow that would sound immediately if there was danger or if the wards had been breached. Yet no such warnings had been given off.

He turned to Ginny and Mrs. Weasley. "The Floo is blocked," he said.

"What do you mean the Floo is blocked? How is it possible? Aren't we on a secure line?" Mrs. Weasley piled the question.

Harry did not answer. He turned back to the Floo, thinking hard. This was no magical fluke. The Burrow was clearly under attack. He had to get Ginny and her mum out of here.

But how? He could reconnect the Floo easily. But even if he succeeded, in the first place Ginny wasn't allowed to travel by any magical means where there was a likelihood of injury. Apparation, Portkeys, and Floos were completely out of the question. Besides, they couldn't all go together at once. There was a strong chance that any of them could be nabbed in transit by whoever was tampering with the Floo. He didn't care about himself, it was Ginny and Mrs. Weasley he was worried about. He turned to Ginny. "Do you have your wand with you?" he asked, even though he knew she wouldn't be able to perform magic.

But it was Mrs. Weasley who answered. "I have it with me," she said, and she lifted Ginny's wand from one of the front pockets of her housedress.

Harry strode back to the kitchen door, and peered through the screen once again. He still could see nothing beyond the Burrow's wards. From inside the house, he couldn't tell which wards had already been breached. Whoever was behind the attack must be just outside the Burrow's borders. But the Burrow's wards were far from ordinary: aside from Charlie's exotic protective charms, all of the family had worked together to erect these wards, including Bill, Percy, Hermione, and himself. In his mind, Harry was already running through the list of usual suspects that could bring down the Burrow's wards without tripping the alarms and came up with... none. Whoever was behind the attack was extremely powerful.

But he could not have been the target. Nobody could possibly have known that he would be here. He never telegraphed his plans and movements to anyone - not unless it was necessary, not even when he was just stepping out for lunch. His decision to come over was completely spontaneous. The target must have been Ginny or Mrs. Weasley - or both. (And he thought the attacks had ended with George.) He felt the powerful surge of anger run through him, and he welcomed the adrenaline rush. He would need the magical surge that came with it.

But the most important thing was to get Ginny and Mrs. Weasley out of here safely. He could hide them inside the Guardian Tree while he fought off the intruders. Nobody would suspect its true nature. But could he risk it? What if he lost and the attackers succeeded in entering the Burrow and, finding no one, raze the entire property to the ground, including the Guardian Tree? The Whomping Willow was able to tunnel a way through to the Shrieking Shack, but he didn't know how long it would take for the Guardian Tree to do the same. He realized that with only a surface knowledge of how the Guardian Tree worked, he simply could not take the chance. They would have to escape through the Ford. It would give them the most protection.

He was still thinking through his options when, from the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a wisp of something white flew out the window. He turned around and to his horror realized it was Mrs. Weasley's Patronus.

Mrs. Weasley saw the expression on his face. "I sent Patronuses to Arthur, Bill, and Ron. Was that wrong?" she asked anxiously.

"Mum, we don't know what's out there. Dad and the rest might be walking into a trap."

"I'll send another Patronus to tell them not to come," Mrs. Weasley said, panicking.

"No, mum. It would be too late. The moment Dad and the others received the first one, they would be sure to come. Ron would be raising the alarm in the Department at once. Even if Dad and Bill do not come, the Department will surely send men out here. We have to get out of here now, before they do."

Harry then waved his wand and Ginny's work disappeared from the table. She'd been working hard on her research, he didn't want all her effort to go to waste. "Is there anything else you need to take from here?" he asked Mrs. Weasley and Ginny.

Mrs. Weasley shook her head, but Ginny said, "Your letter."

It was tempting to say "I'll write you another one" but the situation was too grave for jokes at the moment. So Harry merely nodded, closed his eyes for a second, and Banished the letter to his room in Grimmauld.

Harry then turned to Ginny. "Ready?" he asked her. She nodded, looking fearful but determined.

"Keep your wand out," he said to Mrs. Weasley. Then he paused for a moment, as if debating something, then he looked Mrs. Weasley in the eye. "Mum, if you want, I can call Kreacher to get you out of here now. But I have to stay with Ginny and get her out of here myself," Harry said, essentially telling Mrs. Weasley to save herself.

Mrs. Weasley vigorously shook her head. "Leave Ginny here? No! Harry, how can you even think that of me?" she said, giving him a reproachful look.

"I'm sorry mum, but I have to ask," he said. He then began telling them of the plan. "We have to get into the car. If anyone fires a spell, then strike back with the most powerful spell you can think of, one that would permanently disable. Do you understand, mum?" said Harry.

Mrs. Weasley nodded her head grimly. She need not remind anyone that she had committed murder once before to protect her family. She wouldn't hesitate to do so again.

Harry then cast an Obscuris charm. A cloud of mist formed inside the protective dome of the Burrow, hiding them from any watching eyes outside the wards. The beauty of this charm is that he would immediately know if it had been removed because the cloud of mist would disappear. So long as they remained inside the cloudy mist, Harry was sure they would not be seen. He himself could not see a couple of meters in any direction.

Harry then guided them towards the car and led them inside, then climbed into the driver's seat, intending to barrel through the Burrow. He'd prepped the Ford for such an attack; the car was not just as well magically-armoured as Kingsley's car, but even better. He gunned the motor. It roared to life impatiently then sputtered down. Harry tried a second time. The Ford gunned back to life, its front tires rearing, but then sputtered down again and then the engine died altogether. Harry gripped the wheel tightly. Could it be possible that the car had already been compromised? No. The car still had its protective charms in place. It detected the danger outside the Burrow's wards. He realized the car must not want to move.

Harry looked about him at the veil of opaque mist he himself had created. "I think we're surrounded," he said, his jaw tightening. He looked at Ginny. "Stay here," he said and climbed out of the car.

"Harry, where are you going?" asked Ginny, but Harry had already climbed out of the car and closed the door. He walked over to the front of the car, keeping his hand in contact with the hood. Harry then walked further towards the tree, his feet instinctively tracing the route, guided more by memory than sight. The Ford followed slowly and quietly behind him, like an obedient dog. When they came near enough, the tree extended its limbs over them, then planted the tips of its branches upon the earth, forming a leafy, protective dome over and around them, hiding them further from prying eyes.

Harry then walked back to the driver's side. Ginny was now sitting in front of the wheel. The front window was lowered down, and Ginny immediately reached out a hand to him.

He leaned closer and started caressing her face slowly with the pad of his thumb. He looked at every part of her face except her eyes, even though he felt them boring into him. Finally, he looked into her eyes and answered the silent question, the apprehension he saw in them.

"Ginny, I have to stay. I can't let your dad and brothers and the men face whoever or whatever's outside the wards."

"But Harry – " she began, her grip getting tighter.

"Ginny, please. You know I have to."

"Ginny, Harry has a job to do," said Mrs. Weasley. "You have to trust him now."

Ginny glanced back at her mum, then back to Harry, searching his eyes. "If you're hurt, you hurry to me," she demanded.

Harry smiled sadly, knowing that he couldn't make such a promise. Instead, he whispered, "I love you," and damned the Père Presumptive spell. He kissed Ginny as he had longed to kiss her these past several weeks but then ended it all too soon.

He straightened up, Ginny held on to his arm even more tightly, but Harry took a step away from the car. He tapped the hood of the car, and the windows started rolling up.

Harry walked back to the front of the car, standing in front of the tree. He tried to remember what Dumbledore wrote in his book. The old Headmaster only said that he "persuaded" the Whomping Willow to move from the Forbidden Forest and plant itself in the open grounds of Hogwarts, but he did not say exactly how. Harry extended his arm and touched the trunk of the tree, trying to communicate what he wanted.

He spoke to the tree. "Find them a safe passage out of here," he said. Harry thought he felt a shudder run through the tree. Then a hole began to open at its feet and Harry took a step back. The earth moved gently, the tree's roots acting as an internal support system to hold up the earth. There was no sound at all that would indicate what was happening. Wider and wider the hole became until it was big enough for the car to go through.

He leaned forward to peer into the hole, but could see nothing but a deep and dark hollow, as black as night. Then the car began to roll into the opening. Ginny was now on the driver's seat, palms against the glass window as she stared back at him. They stared into each other's eyes as the black earth started to swallow the blue car. And Harry had to stand there, had to watch her, watch her disappear into the cavernous hollow. As soon as the car was completely inside the tree, the tree began to pull and fold its roots inward, the hole becoming small until finally there was no trace of its existence. Harry took a step back and looked up the tree. "Keep them safe."

He then retraced his steps, starting to erase the tire marks the car had made upon the ground. The tree was helping, too. Already new roots were sprouting up all around the tree – long, tangled, and looking as if they had been there for years. Soon, there was no more evidence of where Ginny had disappeared into.

He looked at his watch, noting the time that had elapsed since Mrs. Weasley sent her Patronus. By now, he knew Aurors were preparing to Apparate to the Burrow. Harry then sent his own message to Ron and Pendrill, giving them specific instructions. Then he Disillusioned himself and started to work. He repaired first the doors of the shed and erased too the tire tracks it had made towards the kitchen door. Then he walked as near to the edge of the Shield protecting the Burrow. He knew the wards of the Burrow like the back of his hands. He himself checked the wards regularly and knew how to erect and disassemble them quickly, if necessary. Harry knelt down and checked if indeed the Burrow's wards had been compromised. He found the more common ones already unlocked.

Two meters further inside the original dome of wards, Harry erected a new protective shell, far stronger, more intricate – many mere ideas in his head, germinated since his encounter with Galina and after his recent trip abroad - wards that no one would be familiar with, no one would know how to undo. He worked quickly but carefully, knowing that if these last, final defense line was taken down, then it could mean Ginny and Mrs. Weasley's lives.

At one point though, he glanced back at the Guardian Tree, now standing still and serene with no sign at all of the Ford it was hiding in its bowels. He knew even now it was digging a way out of the Burrow.

Finally, he was finished. He had made the new wards as strong as he possibly could. Now he walked as close as possible to the edge of the Burrow's original ward and scanned the area outside of it. He could still see no one but knew the intruders must be out there. Then he caught a flash of amber-colored light. And another. And another. Harry narrowed his eyes, peering into the immediate area. And then he saw it again, and again. He counted at least twenty, just within the small area in front of him.

The lights were all floating above ground, but at different levels. He guessed that if a person was standing, then the light would be just where the heart was. That would certainly account for the variation in height, if some were standing, or kneeling or lying low to the ground. For there was such a light very near him, in the place where the heart would be if a man were kneeling to the ground – undoing the wards perhaps – except, this was not made of one light, but a cluster of three.

He then took out Draco's old wand, and now he had two wands in his hand. He then sent another message to the Department, this time a Howler. He didn't want anyone making a stupid mistake just because they didn't hear his memo. Then he stepped out of the new ward into the interim space between the two domes of protective Shields, casting one last magical seal behind him. Then in one quick move he brought the original ward down while simultaneously ending his Disillusionment spell.

"May I help you?" He spoke directly to the space where the three-stars hovering a foot above the ground were.

Like lightning, a ray of curse came hurtling towards him but hit instead the Infundibulus Shield he had erected around himself, a wrap of numerous, tiny, funnel-like Shield that would allow him to send a curse through but near impossible to penetrate from outside. Harry responded by firing back a retaliatory hex towards the direction the spell came from. A scream suddenly erupted. A man appeared in the previously empty space, its body seemed to be wholly without skin and a strong smell of putrefaction assaulted the air.

"You either show yourselves to me or I'll do it for you!" Harry snarled into the air. "What will it be?!"

A man who looked to be in his late fifties appeared where the three starlights had been, a dark-skinned man with dark hair and heavy-set eyes and a slight stoop on his shoulders. The old man was breathing hard. He glanced once at Harry, then at the man by the tree Harry cursed with a powerful excoriation spell. The skinned man was still whimpering, but the old man shouted at him, his voice reprimanding. Then the old man turned to an empty space a few feet behind him where there floated another amber-light. The old man spoke roughly to it. And suddenly, a neatly-combed and bespectacled young-man appeared, looking quite nervous and out-of-place. Then the old man turned back to Harry, eyeing him resentfully. He said something in a foreign language, then spat to the ground. The bespectacled young man translated the words for him. "He said — he said — the popeblowers have been through you."

Harry wasn't particularly familiar with the word, but he recognized the old man's tone and actions as an insult and took it as such and from the context of the word surmised to whom the old man was referring. "They taught me a thing or two," Harry said lightly, but there was nothing light nor casual in the expression on his face. "Now, what do you want?" he said belligerently.

But then the young man Harry hit with a powerful Desquamatus spell screamed, his voice pleading.

The old man shouted something frantic to Harry and again, the bespectacled young man translated the words for him. "Stop it! Whatever you did to him!" He continued to translate for both Harry and the old man from then on, doing it almost simultaneously and fluidly that he seemed to disappear into the background (not by much though, because the Auror in Harry wouldn't allow it).

"It's not hurting him," Harry said, keeping his eyes on the old man. "And he should know better than to attack without giving fair warning to one's opponent, unless he's prepared to take the consequences. Now what are you doing here?" Harry said, his voice ringing with anger.

The young man again whimpered.

"Silence!" the old man snarled at him then he turned back to Harry. "The necklace! I want the necklace!"

"What necklace?" Harry said, though he knew exactly what the man was talking about.

"The Necklace of Menat! I want it! We know it's here. We detected its magic here! For months now, we've been searching for it. We thought at first it was with you! But then you left the country, and we're forced to wait for you to come back."

Harry narrowed his eyes as he realized something. "You're the ones who've been cursing Kingsley," he said in a low voice.

"Only so you'll be forced to come home. We knew you'll be tempted to keep the Necklace with you!"

"Sorry. I can't give it to you," said Harry in the same maddeningly casual voice, belying the anger simmering just underneath his cool mien.

"You don't even know how to use it or what it does! Give it to me! I need it!"

"And what will you do with it? Resurrect someone from the dead? Who are you?" Harry snarled, though he had a good idea who exactly these people were. They were gypsies, though how closely related they were to Galina Kondesjuk, he didn't know. But he wanted the acknowledgement to come from them. Based on his experience, criminals who continue to lie even when caught could never be trusted at all, that their words don't mean anything. They are the most dangerous kind, unpredictable and always with an eye on escape. Harry tightened his grip on his wands.

"I need it to bring my daughter Galina home. You know her. She was killed last June. My wife wants her home, to be back among her people. Coming to your country has been a mistake! And she is coming home!" the old man said emphatically. "But not as a corpse! Never as a corpse!"

"Then you shouldn't have allowed her to leave home in the first place!"

"Do you think I did not try?"

"Well, then, I'm sorry. My answer is still no," said Harry. "You see, I have this insane opinion that dead people ought to stay dead."

"I need the necklace! Give it to me!" the old man shouted.

"Your daughter's dead," said Harry harshly."She knew what she was doing when she performed the rites. She took the risk – and failed."

"Are you going to spill more blood to keep one necklace? No matter how powerful a magical object it is! And I am not going to use it for ill, I swear," the old man pleaded. "I just want my daughter back!"

"But it's already been used for evil," Harry replied, ignoring the first question. He couldn't very well reveal that he needed the necklace for Ginny and he'd be damned if he would let anyone take it away from her. "A man has already died because of it."

"Even so. You have to give it to me! You have to give me back my daughter!" The old man pleaded.

_And lose Ginny?_

"Galina's gone," said Harry harshly. "The necklace itself has exacted that price."

"You're not a father. You don't know what it's like to lose a child," the father said resentfully.

The comment rankled and made Harry speak more harshly than he would otherwise have done. "So what now? Are you going to spill more blood to try and bring back to life your dead daughter? Is that what you want? Because I'm telling you now there is no way you are leaving this place with the Menat necklace. You'll have to go through me first. And that goes for every one of you!" Harry snarled at the others.

He waved his two wands, and as the spell travelled around the Burrow, every one of the Romas appeared, one after the other, more than forty within his line of sight alone. How many more towards the sides and front of the house? A few – who must be either Animagi or Transfigured – even dropped from the trees surrounding the Burrow. Harry stared around at their sheer number. What were they planning to do, an invasion?

He was now breathing hard. If he had not been here, Ginny and Mrs. Weasley would be dead. He stared hard at the people in front of him, his jaws clenched tight, his ears ringing. He was so angry that sparks were flying off the two wands in his hand. The gypsies in front of him, save for the old man, were looking at his hand nervously.

Then one by one, the Aurors and MLE agents Harry had Summoned began to appear too further in the back as each ended his or her own Disillusionment spell. A few of the Romas turned and pointed their wands against the Aurors.

Harry made a quick calculation in his head and realized that they were outnumbered. He debated whether to arrest these people or not. But he knew that Romas would not go down without a fight.

Harry didn't want to do battle. He didn't think these people played fair. He'd seen Galina cast deadly curses as easily as Lumos spells, with utter disregard for human life. He himself would have to kill just to reduce the number of casualties on his own side. He didn't want to lose any lives on such an unjustified and unnecessary reason.

"Tell your men to stand down or they will regret it. And unless you want to fight, you better leave now. And I'm telling you, I won't play nice," Harry said, readying himself.

The other Romas looked uncertainly from their leader to Harry, who was still gripping his two wands tightly in his hands. They had witnessed how easily Harry undid their Concealment Charms, without even uttering a spell. And around them British Aurors had their eyes on their respective targets.

The interpreter walked up to Galina's father and whispered urgently into the old man's ear. Harry watched them closely. Any suspicious movement and he would instantly drop them.

The two Romas argued for a minute. The young man seemed to be trying to reason with the old man to leave. The old man turned to Harry, looking at him defiantly. The young man whispered even more frantically. Harry kept his ground, staring at the old man steadily, his face not giving anything away though he held his tight grip on his two wands.

Finally, the old man waved the interpreter rudely away. He looked at Harry bitterly, his shoulders slumped in defeat. "You're not a father," he said hoarsely.

_Why do people keep saying that to him?_ Wasn't he a son? His parents, Sirius, Dumbledore, even Remus died so he could live. He knew exactly the sentiment on the other side of that equation. It angered him so much that he knew that his next words could very well be an empowered malediction. "Leave now. And be thankful that it's the only thing I've done to you. You are banned from ever coming back to these shores. If I see any of you anywhere in Britain, I promise you, you will never leave."

"What about my son?" Galina's father growled as he threw a glance at the man standing by the tree.

"If I check the wand for the spell he cast against me, what will I find?" Harry challenged back.

Galina's father, breathing heavily, did not reply.

"Thought so," Harry said. He was not angry on his own behalf but at the thought that these people would have no qualms killing Ginny and Mrs. Weasley if he had not been here.

The old man stared back at him, probably debating whether to force the fight between them. But the element of surprise had already been lost. And it was very clear from the look on Harry's face that the British Auror was prepared to fight to the death. The interpreter kept a hand on the old man's arm, but the latter jerked his arm away. He then turned back to his companions and shouted something in their native language. The skinned man too cried out. The old man snapped something at him.

But Harry had one last surprise. "You can't Disapparate," he said. He then glanced at a small round stone by the feet of the old man. It shot straight upwards and then burst into flames, then the smoldering residue fell slowly like a burnt piece of paper back to the ground. "The same thing will happen to you if you Disapparate now from here. And don't even think you can come back when I'm not here and try again because you'll find that you won't be able to Disillusion yourselves ever again."

The other foreign wizards stood gaping at him. They had heard Harry was an extremely powerful wizard, but in one fell swoop Potter undid the many secrecy charms they, as a people, had been using for generations. They had then no recourse but to file out of there, with Aurors and MLE wizards standing watch over them, wands trained upon them.

Harry watched them too, Disillusioned, hovering several feet up in the air as a bird of prey. Before they even made a move, he would be upon them.

He watched them go until the last of Galina's people reached the outskirts of the county, where he told them they could safely Disapparate from. And when finally the last of the Burrow's attackers Disapparated, Harry locked the area too with a powerful Disabling ward.

He then made one cursory sweep of the area surrounding the Burrow, using his bird form's vision to scour the area below and make sure there were no stragglers lurking behind. Other Ministry agents were already on it, but he wanted to make sure.

When finally he deemed the area safe enough, he immediately Apparated right inside the Burrow's new, inner ward, Transfiguring in a flash back into human. Mr. Weasley, Bill, and Ron were already there waiting for him in the back garden. There was no one else with them. Only family could come inside the Burrow's wards.

They immediately rushed to him with worried expressions on their faces. They hadn't found Ginny and Mrs. Weasley yet. Harry shook his head, and headed straight to the Guardian Tree. He looked up at it and spoke to it directly. "Are they safe?"

Slowly the roots of the tree untangled themselves, revealing the huge hole underneath. The hole was so deep that Harry could not see the bottom, even when he and Mr. Weasley held their wands aloft to cast light upon the hole.

Harry wasn't worried about Ginny and Mrs. Weasley not being able to breathe. The Ford had built-in survival spells, similar to those in place deep underneath Gringotts' tunnels. The air inside the Ford would always be breathable, the pressure equalized, and remembering the desperate hunt for the Horcruxes, he had the glove compartment linked directly to the Hogwarts kitchens — anybody trapped inside would always have access to food. But there was no way to tell if some of Galina's people had gotten to Ginny and Mrs. Weasley while his attention was otherwise engaged.

Then he saw the roof of the Ford slowly coming up through the hole in the earth, gently being lifted by the tree's roots. Harry was taken aback at how the Guardian Tree did not even dig a tunnel away from the Burrow. Instead, it dug straight underneath, near him – the only place the tree knew to keep Ginny and Mrs. Weasley safe.

At last, the Ford reached the surface. Harry and the others stood back to allow the car room. And there peeking out from the dirtied windows were the anxious faces of Ginny and Mrs. Weasley. Harry ran to Ginny's side of the car and wrenched open the door. He helped her out gently and she rushed to hug him tightly. But Harry's return embrace was unexpectedly subdued. Ginny gazed up at his face and saw something in his expression not at all to her liking. Harry was all formal and distant, as if he were still in Auror mode. Then she felt the air around them shimmer with magic.

"Ginny, I'm sorry but I have to ask this," he said, not looking her in the eye.

Ginny however kept her gaze upon him. That must have been a Silencing Charm he'd cast so that her family would not hear what he had to say. She braced herself.

"Uhm, when was the first time you saw the Necklace of Menat?" asked Harry.

Ginny continued to stare up at Harry. A part of her brain was already assessing the situation from his point of view. She didn't know what was happening aboveground while she and her mum were in the Ford, deep inside the earth. But Harry must have a reason to think that she could have been exchanged with an impostor. If she were, then he would have to incapacitate her and then run after whoever attacked the Burrow to try and retrieve the real Ginny as soon as possible – if she was still alive.

She understood clearly why Harry had to ask the question, but it didn't mean it hurt any less. "The morning after the Harpies-Kestrel game," she replied, and was surprised to find her voice calm. "When you dropped by the Burrow. It was you who showed it to me."

Harry gave a curt nod. Then she caught the quick glance he gave her mum who was now crying and hugging Mr. Weasley, Bill, and Ron in one huge embrace. Ginny would not allow Harry to question her mother; her mum wouldn't be as understanding as she had been. "Harry, if you believe me, you won't ask her," she warned him.

Harry turned back to her again. He continued to stare at her, his face remaining impassive. It puzzled Ginny for a minute until she realized: He was afraid. Guilt at having to ask her the question made him keep his distance. She reached out her hand to cup his face, a small smile gracing her lips. "It's okay, Harry," she said gently, though in her mind she was cursing the Dursleys for making this brave, upright, wonderful man fearful of rejection. "I completely understand. You had to ask."

Their eyes met, understanding sealed. Then Harry placed a hand at the back of her neck and gently pulled her face closer to his. Ginny found herself thus in Harry's arms and he was again kissing her, kissing her as thoroughly as he did earlier when they weren't sure when, if, they would see each other again. No one in her family objected and Ginny allowed herself to indulge in Harry's embraces. There was something different about this kiss, though. It was too honest, too naked, as if the Père Presumptive Spell and all the rest of the bullshit they had been putting up with simply didn't matter anymore. It was as if, with this kiss, Harry was staking complete, absolute claim upon her. And Ginny was vigorously kissing her agreement back.

All too soon, they broke apart. Harry and Ginny looked at each other's eyes, and just like that, they knew they were one. What again was that Muggle song? The one that went… _Sealed with a kiss…_. With a small smile, Harry then undid the Muffliato spell he'd cast around them. He and Ginny then walked back to join the rest of her family, their hands joined together. No one mentioned the kiss. Bill did not even give Harry the look he often gave him when he wanted to remind Harry to be careful with Ginny, of the Père Presumptive spell. For what did some, unsure, unseen possibility of danger in the future matter, when minutes ago, he could have easily lost his sister and his mum – were it not for Harry.

Harry then started narrating the events of the attack, stopping at the point when he finally sent his Howler to the Ministry.

"But Harry, who were all those people?" said Bill.

"They're the family of the woman who was killed in our operation in Soay last June," Harry said. He and Bill exchanged a look of understanding. Harry would not be able to go into details but Bill would fully understand the situation, what those people were really after.

"Do you think they would be back?" said Mr. Weasley, looking still unnerved at what happened.

"Not these gypsies who attacked the Burrow. I made sure of that," said Harry.

"What do you mean 'made sure of that'?" Ron asked.

"I bound their magic, removed their ability to conceal themselves," said Harry simply.

"You could do that?" asked Bill.

Harry merely shrugged. "But we don't know what they're going to do next. We need to prevent others from coming back, not just here but in the entire country as well. I should have done that when I learned Galina had snuck into the Ministry and modified all of Garrick Rosier's files. But so many things have happened since then and I completely forgot about it," said Harry, squeezing Ginny's hands gently to apologize for the memory that time evoked. "But we must make sure that they won't be able to launch another attack again."

Harry then turned to Ron. "You head the operation. Ask Percy to coordinate with the Vatican. It was they who tried to give me a warning that this might happen," said Harry, now realizing the full meaning of Fr. Lockefeer's "gift." The priest had armed him against Galina's people, against exactly this type of attack. "Ask them how to keep these people out."

"I'll help," said Bill. "Gringotts has frequent tangles with gypsies. I'm familiar with some of the magic they use. And I believe Liechtenstein has wards against them, as well. It's a small country, but many ancient, magical heirlooms had been hidden there during World War II. Gringotts has a branch there. I'll ask my contacts."

Harry nodded. "Where's Percy and George?" he said, noticing the two brothers' absence for the first time. He expected all of Ginny's brothers to be present.

It was Bill who answered. "When we received mum's Patronus, we thought it best to make sure the rest of the family are safe," he said. "Percy and George have been moving them to Grimmauld, including Andromeda and Teddy. I hope it's okay with you."

"It's fine. But is Grimmauld safe? It hasn't been compromised?" said Harry.

"Percy thinks so. He checked before bringing the children over. Fleur thinks so too, as well."

Harry nodded. Fleur was a highly competent witch – and a bear-wolf of a mother, fiercely protective of her young. She wouldn't bring her children anywhere she knew wasn't safe. But he would have to make sure once he gets home.

"How about Hermione's parents?" Harry was nothing if not thorough.

"'Mione took them to St. Mungo's," said Ron."You know, the room reserved only for you. It's the safest place we could think of for them at the moment."

Harry was grinding his teeth together, thinking. He himself had built the wards in that particular hospital room. Hermione insisted upon it, given his history at Hogwarts. Still, he didn't like the idea. He wanted all his loved ones in one place, where he could keep an eye on them. He was keenly aware that the Romas could have easily used Teddy as bait to force him to come back to England; he was extremely grateful that they didn't. He would never have forgiven himself if anything happened to his godson and to Andromeda.

But he had yet to remove the Unplottable Charms on Grimmauld, the charms which made it impossible for a Muggle to enter the house. There were other anti-Muggle Charms as well, the removal of which would mean undoing the very protective charms at Grimmauld that was keeping it safe and hidden from outsiders.

"Don't worry, Harry. Percy and Neville are with them," said Ron, watching Harry's face. "If anything happens, Hermione would send a Patronus."

Harry nodded. He then turned to Ginny. "Is there anything you want to bring to Grimmauld? We'll all have to stay there for a while."

He and Ginny exchanged a brief glance, both recognizing that Harry was essentially asking her to come live with him. Well, perhaps not really ask, because she wasn't being given a choice in the matter, and it wasn't as if it was just the two of them moving in together; her entire family would be there. Still….

So they left the Burrow on the Ford, with Bill Apparating ahead to Grimmauld to once again check if the house and surrounding areas were safe. Galina's people must have been casing the various houses connected to Harry for some time now. They had to make sure that the Romas didn't leave any nasty surprises behind.

The next couple of weeks, Harry stayed at Grimmauld, making sure it was completely secure. Bill now worked the evening desk, working on offshore Gringotts accounts. This arrangement ensured that either he or Harry would be at home at Grimmauld at all times. Fleur and Angie would be there as well during the day. Angie had to stay home to watch over Freddie, while Fleur only did occasional freelance work for Gringotts and the French Foreign Ministry.

Harry did all the wards himself, making them as unique and intricate as possible. Once, while watching him as he worked in the parlour room, Mrs. Weasley cried, "But we won't have the protection of the Guardian Tree!"

"We will," Harry said, turning to her and Ginny who were the only people allowed in the room while he worked. The children had a tendency to fight amongst themselves over who gets to sit at Harry's feet and wrap himself around his leg. And when they got tired of that, run around the room screaming and generally wreaking havoc. Harry couldn't get any work done. "Did you know that the Whomping Willow used to stand deep in the heart of the Forbidden Forest? It only came to be at the grounds of Hogwarts because Dumbledore persuaded it to. That's why it's a bit wild and ferocious."

"And the Ford?" said Mrs. Weasley. She had become rather fond of these things that saved her and Ginny's lives.

"It's in the back as well. You forgot that it could fly – and fly invisible," Harry said, throwing Ginny a wink. He thought his little joke deserved a kiss (the truth was, these days Harry thought that almost everything he did deserved a kiss from Ginny). So he leaned his cheek towards Ginny, who happily obliged him with a playful smack. Mrs. Weasley couldn't find it in her heart to deny the two a bit of happiness, not after what happened. And so she pretended she saw nothing and made an excuse to leave. As long as Ginny and Harry weren't doing anything far too intimate, she guessed she was okay with it.

For the first time since Harry joined the Auror Department, he sat a major operation out. While he worked at Grimmauld, the Ministry shored up the borders of the country against further intrusions, sending its best wizards to do the job. For it recognized that the incident wasn't just an attack on the Weasleys; it very clearly exposed the Ministry's own vulnerabilities.

But Harry had not been idle. From Grimmauld, he was able to piece together the timeline of the attack, of how the Romas traced the Necklace to the Burrow, using Ginny's, Mrs. Weasley's and his own memories of that day. Apparently, the gypsies had posted a man at the Ministry, precisely to look for it. (Harry recognized him from one of the gypsies attacking the Burrow). And when Ginny and her mum dropped by Mr. Weasley's office after her pregnancy check-up, the Roma sensed the presence of the Necklace. Harry didn't think the Roma knew that it was Ginny wearing it, and probably assumed Mrs. Weasley had it. Alone and inside the Ministry, the man could not steal the Necklace and must have gone and called for reinforcements. The Ford was impossible to follow as well – Harry had designed it to deliver its occupants to their destination the safest, the soonest way possible.

It was a good thing as well that Ginny decided to go home directly after meeting up with Mr. Weasley (and that he, Harry, decided to go there as well). Otherwise, the Romas would have followed her to Muggle London and nabbed the Necklace there. Even if the gypsies did not touch her, removing the Necklace from her body would kill Ginny as sure as casting the Killing Curse upon her would. Ginny would suffer from rebound hemorrhage, just as people with high blood pressure suffer from rebound hypertension as soon as they stopped taking their medicines cold turkey.

The news that the Burrow had been attacked had, unsurprisingly, spread like wildfire, though no one was sure who attacked exactly and why. And since Harry hadn't been seen in public for weeks, soon rumors were flying hard and fast that he was killed. But Harry had long ago stopped caring about anything said about him – whether true or not. Anyway, him reappearing for work two weeks later effectively ended the chin-wagging.

He made sure to be home as much as possible though, and was glad that he had every justification for doing so. Whatever work he could bring home, he did. He came home for lunch every day, arranging his schedule around it. He also tried to come home as early as he could and was always rewarded with Ginny meeting him at the end of the hallway (Mrs. Weasley would not let her near the door or the window, afraid someone would snatch Ginny from the street, no matter how impossible this scenario was).

Thus, in the end, something good came out of the whole mess. It had been Harry's dream to come home to Ginny for years and now, finally the dream had become real.


	16. Chapter 16

HARRY POTTER AND THE NECKLACE OF MENAT

Chapter 16

"Are you happy?"

"I'm happy," said Ginny and turned the question around. "Are you happy?"

She and Harry were both lying in bed facing each other. They were in one of the rooms on the fourth floor at Grimmauld. The room was supposed to be Hermione's but she had never once slept in it. Harry admitted to Ginny that he had intended to ask her to move into Grimmauld soon after she graduated from Hogwarts and offer the room to her. But of course, she had signed up immediately with the Holyhead Harpies and had to stay in the players' dormitory for most of the year. But he went on anyway and decorated the room in Gryffindor and Harpies colors, though in very muted greens. Ginny had noted drily how convenient it was that one only had to carve a door in the wall to connect it to Harry's own room, which comment drew a Mona Lisa smile from him.

She loved coming up here to take her afternoon naps. It was officially hers now. In fact, most of her things had already been moved into the room. However, she actually slept in a bed tucked inside a walk-in closet – with mere louvered doors for privacy – in the kids' room on the second floor, where her parents and Andromeda also had their rooms. No other arrangement was acceptable to her family.

She had been asleep when Harry arrived home. Normally, he'd find her in the kitchen writing. But even at her fifth month of pregnancy, there were still days when she felt tired and sleepy, especially in the afternoons. At first, Harry would sit on a chair near the bed, content to watch her while she slept, but soon would nod off to sleep himself. Whenever Ginny awoke to find him thus sleeping, she would get up and sit on the floor by his leg and, like as not, fall back to sleep herself. She never woke him up, knowing how tired he was coming home from work. After her mum walked in on them like that a number of times, she finally relented and advised Harry to just lie beside Ginny if he felt sleepy – but of course with the door fully open.

And now Ginny woke up again to find Harry lying down beside her staring at her face.

"I'm happy," he replied, smiling, but there was a hint of sadness in his voice. Harry need not speak the reason why.

Ginny began slowly tracing the five o'clock shadow on his face and a funny thought occurred to her. "Did you know that facial and chest hair on men are God's gifts to women?"

"What?" Harry said with a laugh. "Where did you hear that?"

"Luna. One of her fellow interns told her so." After Hogwarts, Luna had worked for two years at a magical zoo in Switzerland and then went off travelling all over the world searching for mythological creatures, trying to find evidence of their existence. They were lucky if she and Luna saw each other twice a year. Ginny and her family had long suspected that Harry was a major sponsor of Luna's "research", but of course nobody could make Harry admit it.

Ginny turned on her back to face the ceiling. "I miss Luna," she said. In fact, she missed a lot of her friends, her teammates, her old life. At first, she felt giddy, living with Harry under the same roof. It was as if they were playing house, a dress rehearsal for a future life with him. But since they were not certain if the danger from Galina's people had passed, she had become a virtual prisoner at Grimmauld, Harry policing her contact with the outside world. She wasn't allowed the use of the Floo, though she could send and receive letters. And they were never allowed visitors, except her primary Healer who had been changed to the Aurors' - meaning Harry's - regular Healer. As a matter of protocol, the said Healer must always be taken into the house's Fidelius protection. The Auror Healer was also quite used to the complicated wards at Grimmauld; she knew the drill. Ginny understood the rationale for all these security measures - which to her took paranoia to an entirely new level -, but quite frankly, she was starting to feel suffocated.

Harry was watching her face. He understood how she felt. He was uncomfortably aware that he was doing to her exactly what Dumbledore did to Sirius. But under the current circumstances, he had no choice. He mirrored her actions and turned over to face the ceiling and sighed. "I know."

Ginny heard the guilt in his voice. _What a self-blaming sod, _she thought, smiling to herself. She turned to face him once more, propping herself on an elbow, and looked down at him.

"What?" said Harry.

But Ginny just leaned over and kissed him softly on the lips.

Soon after that, visitors started trickling into Grimmauld – but only the ones they absolutely trusted, like Neville and Hannah, the Harpies team manager, Gwenog Jones, Leslie, Harry ferrying the visitors to and from Grimmauld himself. Even Professor McGonagall and Hagrid came for a visit, although Harry had to Portkey Hagrid in — he simply would not fit in through the front door, where first time visitors to the newly-warded Grimmauld had to pass through. Ginny still wasn't allowed the use of the Floo, and Ron still screened all her incoming letters, but twice Harry brought her to Muggle London. True, it was hardly a date – they had to do the long overdue pregnancy shopping. Also, they had been accompanied by the deadliest wands in the family – all in disguise and keeping a discreet distance – still, it was better than nothing.

Only her writing was keeping Ginny occupied these days. She was getting along pretty well with her book, but in order to finish it, she would have to do lots and lots of interviews, which at the moment, was not possible. So she decided to shift her focus, and submitted Quidditch articles to newspapers and magazines – under an assumed name of course – and several had already been accepted for publication. At least, while Harry was off solving cases, she was doing something with her time and earning money to boot.

Not that she needed the money. The Harpies management had given her a generous compensation package for what had happened. They even paid her full contract in advance. She didn't even demand it, and yet they offered it to her, with Bill going over the details. Bill said not to worry, that Harpies had already earned enough money off her from ticket, advertising, and merchandise sales that the company could very well afford it. It was clear they were buying her goodwill. In fact, they had been doling out hush money to all the afterparty attendees, not just the dead victims' families or the pregnant patients. Ginny guessed that, what with her savings and investments she had accumulated over the years and so long as she didn't go overboard with her spending, she needn't have to work for the rest of her life.

Now Ginny was back in her room on the fourth floor. She looked at her watch. Three hours more before Harry arrived home. She wondered what to do with her time until then. She could read. Or write. But there's a point when you read and write constantly enough that your head becomes so leaden and stuffy you couldn't do anymore of either. If she were in a Muggle hotel, she would laze the day away watching the telly. But no such luck. The scrapbook, then.

She leafed through to the last page, barely able to glance at the pictures. Really, what was Hermione thinking? Ginny had originally intended to give copies of the scrapbook to guests should the two ever decide to get married. But now, looking at the pictures, Ginny realized that they were simply too risqué to be shown to decent company – though she very much doubted if anyone was left in the Wizarding world who hadn't yet seen any of their pictures.

Take for example the very first scandalous photo taken of the two. It was George actually who had taken the pictures. Ron and Hermione had _volunteered_ to help him with his store's inventory at the height of the yearend holiday season but when he checked on the two in the backroom of the store, they were nowhere to be found. George discovered them soon enough at the back alley of the Wheezes' store, kissing like there was no tomorrow, with Ron's groping hand under Hermione's jumper. Interrupting would not teach the two a lesson, George thought, so he took photos of them instead and promptly sent copies to the papers the next day.

Ginny was still flipping through the pages of the scrapbook when there was a soft knock on the door. She scrambled to hide the scrapbook under the bed covers – and not a moment too soon, for just then the door opened and Hermione entered the room, her bushy brown hair as wild as ever.

"Hey Ginny."

"Hey."

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing," said Ginny, putting on her most innocent face. Hermione's guileless nature was no match to Ginny's acting skills and she thought nothing amiss. "Did mum send you up here to check on me?"

"What? No," Hermione said, as she sat on the edge of the bed. "Your mum doesn't need to tell me to come here and make sure you're okay."

"I'm fine, as you can see," said Ginny, trying to tuck the scrapbook further under the sheets.

"They'll be coming home late today, you know," Hermione said, referring to Ron and Harry.

It seemed the body Harry and his team had found in the Council Tower Block might just belong to Corry Britwhistle, but the absence of original DNA sample made it hard to prove. Though the Ministry tests did show that hours before he died, the body's owner had ingested huge amounts of Potion X. With Philip still not back in England, the result only meant the investigation had grounded to a halt. But that didn't mean Harry had more time in his hands. He had been checking and rechecking the country's wards the Ministry had reinforced, and had been helping the Ministry design and set up the only three magical ports where foreign wizards could enter the country. After the attack at the Burrow, the project had been given top priority by the Ministry.

Ginny really didn't care much about these developments, except it meant Harry was still super busy.

"I know," she said with a sigh. "Harry already told me before he left this morning." Then something just occurred to her. "Did Harry tell you to keep an eye on me?" she demanded.

"What?" Hermione all but squeaked.

"That git," Ginny said, annoyed. "What does he think? That someone's going to kidnap me right inside this house?"

"You can't really blame him, Ginny. You've had one too many close calls."

"You shut your mouth," said Ginny. "I know you. You'll defend Harry even if he suddenly turns Dark and starts killing off babies!"

Hermione's lips twitched into a smile, knowing Ginny wasn't really angry.

Ginny sighed in frustration. Bad enough that she had to stay inside the house, the last thing she needed was a child-minder. Still, no matter how frustrated she felt, she knew Hermione was right. And it was not as if only Harry was doing it. In fact, her entire family was guilty of treating her like delicate porcelain that might break any minute. She hated it. She used to be very independent.

Apparently, admitting that Harry sent her was permission enough to stay, so Hermione began to settle down, pulling out the book she brought with her and beginning to read.

Ginny leaned back against the wooden headboard, deflated. She had no choice but to put up with it. Her life was not the only thing at stake here, but the baby's as well. The scrapbook under the blanket was poking her in the butt and she shifted to sit more comfortably, all the while muttering to herself and throwing Hermione evil glances. Then suddenly her eyes lit up with mischief. She might not have a say on the matter, but it didn't mean that she should make babysitting her an easy task for anyone. Let them do so at their own peril.

"Hermione…" Ginny began, all innocent.

"Hhhmm?" Hermione said distractedly, her eyes still on the book she was reading.

"What happened?"

Hermione looked up. "What do you mean what happened?"

"With you?"

Hermione still looked puzzled. So Ginny drew a deep breath, very like drawing a long sword from its scabbard, before plunging the same sword in for the kill.

"I mean, you used to be prim and proper, back in Hogwarts. I could barely make you admit that Krum kissed you and now, it's like you're determined to let it all hang out there. I just don't understand. I mean, are you playing some kind of one-upmanship with Lavender? You know, when she and Ron were still together back in Hogwarts? I just don't understand why you have to be so public with… _everything_," said Ginny, mentally blowing her fingers and rubbing them on her top.

Ginny expected Hermione to feel at least a bit embarrassed. She knew no one, except for her mum and Harry. had confronted the two about their behavior – though in her mum's case, it was more like one-sided screaming on her part. But Hermione's reaction was far from what she had expected. Hermione had acquired this soft, serene expression that Ginny could only describe as ... _bliss_?

"Hermione?" she asked uncertainly.

"It makes your brother happy."

"Eh?"

"It makes Ron happy," said Hermione, positively beaming.

"Of course it would make Ron happy! What boyfriend wouldn't be deliriously happy if their girlfriend's willing to do it just about anywhere? I mean, up a tree, the basement at Honeyduke's, the Shrieking Shack – "

"You know about that?" said Hermione, genuinely surprised.

"Merlin, Hermione! When in the history of the Shrieking Shack did a ghost cry out moaning 'Oooohh! Roooon! Roooon!'?" said Ginny, complete with facial expressions. "The whole of Hogsmeade heard you! They say you were making creepier sounds than when Remus was trapped in there as a werewolf! There are jokes about it written in all the student bathrooms of Hogwarts! Someone even sent me pictures of them!"

"Why would anybody send you pictures of graffiti at Hogwarts bathrooms?"

"What? Well, uhm, never mind that," said Ginny shiftily. "The point is: why are you doing it?"

"I told you it makes Ron happy. Believe me Ginny, if Ron is into reading books, then that's all you'll ever see us do. And I would be completely happy."

"Yeah, right, you would," snorted Ginny. Hermione ignored her.

"Right now, at his age, sex is what makes your brother happy – " Hermione continued.

"Ewww, Hermione! I asked you a simple question! I did not ask you to gross me out!"

Hermione arched an eyebrow. "Pot, meet kettle," she said.

Ginny made a very childish expression on her face.

But a floodgate seemed to have opened and Hermione could not stop speaking. She fixed her eyes on Ginny. "You know how I had to erase my parents' memories before our seventh year?" she said. "My mum says that she's never really forgotten me. That time when they were living in Australia, she would leave the house and then promptly come back home thinking she had forgotten something important. There would be days when she would just cry, and she didn't know why. She felt that she was missing a huge part of her life but couldn't understand what. The same was true with my dad. He told me how every evening, he would walk around the house, making sure the gas was turned off, that the doors and windows were locked, because he always felt he'd forgotten something. Whenever they would see a girl with hair like mine, they both would stop and feel sad for some reason." Hermione looked Ginny in the eye. "You just don't understand how guilty I feel towards them."

Ginny shifted uncomfortably, her cheeks reddening with shame. She set out to make fun of Hermione, only for the thing to blow right back at her face.

"Ron knows this. And he's been helping me make up to my parents." Hermione gave her a smile. "You think you're the only one with a wonderful boyfriend?" she continued. "You never see it, but Ron's been amazing, too. He'd often drop by my parents' house, even without me there, just to try to see what he can do around the house. My dad's not very handy with tools, and Ron has been a big help around their house. If there's something that needs fixing, Ron's always there to help."

"But that's not the sole reason, is it, Hermione?" said Ginny, eyeing Hermione shrewdly.

Hermione laughed. "I can't hide anything from you, can I?"

"Not even the twins could hide secrets from me," said Ginny, smiling sadly. The thought of Fred made her melancholic.

Hermione had an equally sad smile of her own. "It's been very difficult with Ron, growing up with your brothers, having to live up to all their accomplishments and then later having Harry as his best friend. Then a time came when I had to choose between Ron and Harry…. and I chose Harry."

"When you three were on the run," Ginny guessed. She'd always heard veiled references of a falling out between Ron and Harry — mostly because Ron couldn't keep his mouth shut — but she never knew the details. But Hermione choosing Harry over Ron must have been very hard for her brother. The jealous streak ran strong in the Weasley family.

Hermione nodded. "Don't get me wrong, Ginny. I don't regret it for one second. It was the right thing to do. And if I have to do it all over again, I would do the same. I would always do the same thing." Hermione looked directly at Ginny. "But now… I just want your brother to know, that with me, he is never second best."

Hermione's eyes met Ginny's once more. And Ginny felt as if a baton was being handed to her, about one of the cardinal truths of love: To love is to do things that would make the other person happy, to love how the other person wants to be loved and not the other way around.

~o~

With the Harpies case on hold, Harry now turned his attention back to the Soay case. He knew he needed to search for Galina's house, if only because he hated leaving unfinished business. He was also determined to find her house to make sure that none of her people had taken refuge in it.

But first he needed something. So he and Ron and a few other Aurors went to the public cemetery where Galina's body had been interred. The Aurors and Unspeakables had already been to the site soon after the attack at the Burrow. But they couldn't confirm whether Galina's body was still there or not. Harry had already given orders for the Ministry team to just seal the area, knowing that Galina's people might have left it booby-trapped.

And now Harry stood some distance away from the grave, while Ron and the others stood further behind his back. The area was literally humming with magic. He knew the Romas would not be creating _Inferis_ – they would consider it child's play. They would mean to hurt and punish, not scare people away.

So Harry started building a Shield over what he could feel was the extent of the Romas' wards, making it as thick as possible. Then he knelt down and punched a tiny hole in the Shield where it met the ground, just enough to fit in his wand, then slowly bored a hole through his Shield into the now magically enclosed space.

Harry then started firing spell after spell after spell, each one meeting with flank-speed rebounding curses every time. The curses ricocheted on the insides of the Shield he had erected and for quite a while they couldn't see anything in it but heavy smoke and flashes of light. But Harry kept firing spells, angling his wand this way and that, setting off so many hexes it looked like he was celebrating his own private Guy Fawkes Night. Then he pointed his wand on Galina's grave itself and hit it with another curse. A resounding BOOM immediately detonated inside, shaking his Shield, but not damaging it.

He continued to fire spells until they no longer triggered any more rebounding hexes. Then he changed the angle of his wand again, but this time pointing it directly on the ground. He started casting spells anew, putting enough power in them that the spells burrowed a trail right into Galina's grave. They could see it clearly, like a trail of a great lizard burrowing just beneath the surface. As his spells hit the curses the Romas had embedded in Galina's grave, the earth around the tomb started exploding. He continued firing spells long after the recoiling hexes ceased firing back. He stopped only when he thought that the Romas' spells had been fully exhausted. He was panting by the time he was done and had to take a rest for a while.

"Harry, are you alright?"Ron said.

"I'm fine," Harry said. Matt, who was with them, offered Harry a Muggle bottled water. He knew that when Harry was this magically exhausted, he preferred real to conjured water. Ron took the bottled water, opened the sealed cap, sniffed it, and tilted the bottle around and sideways as he peered at the clear water inside, visually checking it for signs of tampering, or the presence of any Potions. Harry did it, too. Matt didn't mind. It was standard protocol for the Aurors. Someone had dubbed it the Mad-Eye Test and indeed they looked a bit mad, eyeing the bottles, checking if it had been poisoned.

After he had recovered, Harry stood up and carefully removed the Shield. He cleared the air of all the smoke from the spells and rebounding hexes. He signaled to the others that everything looked okay for the moment, that they could approach, but only at a safe distance.

Then he walked carefully towards Galina's grave and removed the earth covering her grave, scooping the earth in small amounts until finally her coffin was revealed. He undid the last of the curses that remained, but was astounded at the sheer nastiness of the spells. Then he lifted the lid of the coffin, which was empty. Finally he eased himself down into Galina's now empty grave.

Harry stepped into the coffin then hunkered down to his feet. There was light coming from a nearby lamppost, but it wasn't enough. "_Lumos_," he whispered, pointing his wand into the crevices of the coffin. He sighed with relief when he found what he was after: A few strands of Galina's hair.

~o~

That weekend, Ginny waited until her mum and Andromeda had gone back to the kitchen before tiptoeing up the third floor where her sisters-in-law and Hermione often spent Saturday nights together playing catch-up. Harry was in the parlor with her dad and her brothers. Sometimes, she and Harry would use the time to be alone but tonight she excused herself, claiming she was sleepy.

Ginny placed her ears first to the door, listening to the muffled voices inside before knocking softly to announce her presence. Then she quietly swung the door open, carefully avoiding meeting any of the women's eyes. She headed to one of the empty chairs beside Audrey and took a seat, grabbing the backrest for support. If they were surprised to see her there, they didn't say anything. She had never joined in on them before, knowing to where these talks eventually led. Ginny was only too aware of the silent conversations her sisters-in-law were having with each other, but she was determined to sit this one through. It took a while for their talk to resume.

"As I was saying," Audrey began, with an uncertain glance Ginny's way, "someone in his office gave Percy a magical copy of the Kama Sutra, complete with moving illustrations – as a joke. And I told Perce we should turn the joke on them and try every position in the book and we'll see who gets the last laugh…."

Ginny's eyes grew round, at once realizing her mistake. As fast as her body could allow her, Ginny stood up and waddled away from the others. She was immediately followed by raucous laughter behind her back.

"Where are you going, Ginny? Didn't you join us to learn sex lessons?" Angeline shouted after her. "Come back here with your notebook!"

But Ginny was already out the room, slamming the door behind her, the laughter of her sisters-in-law reverberating mockingly in her ears. As soon as the door was closed though, she let her shoulders fall. What was she thinking? Late night sex talks were something she could never, ever share with any of her brothers' women. She was alone in this house with only Harry for real company. The rest? She had to tiptoe around, keep a part of herself private. Oh how she missed her teammates! Even though she didn't have much to contribute to these kinds of conversations with them, at least they never let her feel left out.

Then the door to the room behind opened again, and Hermione and her sisters-in-law emerged from the room still laughing.

"Ginny, we're sorry," said Angelina, wiping tears of laughter in her eyes. "We were just playing with you. Please don't get mad."

"Come back, Ginny, we want you here," said Audrey.

"Please, Ginny."

But Ginny kept her back to them, and started to walk down the hall, towards the stairs. More than shame, more than anger, more than sadness for the things she had lost, was the realization that her life would never be the same again. Her Quidditch life was over, and with it, the friendships, the camaraderie, her freedom. All she had now was her future, the thought of which made her even more depressed.

Hermione and her sisters-in-law were all crowded around her now, but Ginny kept walking, her head bowed until she reached the top of the stairs.

"Please, Ginny," Hermione cried after her. Ginny could tell she too was struggling to keep her laughter in check.

"Is everything alright?"

Ginny lifted her head. Harry was standing at the stairs landing, staring up at her. Nobody had sensed him coming.

"Everything's fine, 'arry," Fleur said, a hand on Ginny's arm.

But Harry was looking at Ginny's face and knew that everything was not fine.

"Ginny, can I talk to you for a moment?" he said. He and Ginny exchanged glances. He held out his hand to her. Ginny lifted a hand towads him – just a fraction, but it was enough and Harry climbed the stairs two steps at a time until he was standing just a step below her. He did not spare the others a single glance, obviously very displeased. How he even knew Ginny was distressed the others could only wonder, but clearly he had a way of knowing. They did not realize that, like the portraits at Hogwarts, the portraits on the walls were Harry's eyes and ears inside his own house.

Harry led Ginny up the flight of stairs to the fourth floor. When they were out of sight of Hermione and the rest, Harry indicated that he would like to carry Ginny up the stairs as he often did whenever they went up the attic. She gave a small nod and he bent down to pick her up, easily lifting her. Ginny wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned her head onto his shoulder. They'd already climbed a few steps before he spoke again.

"Are you okay?" he asked gently.

"I'm fine," Ginny mumbled.

Harry knew she was not, but allowed her her silence. He continued to carry Ginny upstairs until they reached the attic.

This had become their place though Ginny never went there unless she was with Harry. As of the moment it was fairly empty – Harry had not gotten around to renovating the place yet – except for a love seat in front of the glass double doors that led to a wooden balcony. Harry said he planned to turn the attic into a Muggle entertainment area, similar to ones he had seen in magical buildings in Japan during his self-exile. The design was adopted from the Muggle US embassy in Russia, where the Americans had to destroy the top two floors of the building already built and build four new ones on top of that to isolate the new construction from the spy equipment embedded into the original building by the KGB. Japanese wizards discovered that using the same "top-hat" principle, they could isolate a space in a strongly magical environment to allow Muggle electronic equipments to work.

Structurally however, the rooftop was already finished. Harry had added dormer windows into the roof, aside from the balcony doors that afforded them a good view of the city of London. It was also a convenient way for anyone in the family to fly in and out on a broomstick, or even a hippogriff – if one were available.

Harry deposited Ginny into the love seat, cast a warming spell in the entire room, then opened the balcony doors, after which he placed a magical barrier against the cold outside. Then he conjured a blanket and wrapped it around Ginny's shoulders. When he was sure she was comfortable, he sat beside her, close but not touching. They sat for a time there looking at the city lit by Muggle lights and listening to the Muggle sounds from the street.

"You okay?" Harry repeated his question earlier after a time. At Ginny's continued silence, he added, "It'll get better, you know".

"Would it?" Ginny said in a small voice.

Harry lifted an arm and placed it on the back of the seat. Ginny snuggled closer into him. She knew her mum would not be pleased if she saw them this way. But Ginny needed the comfort only Harry could give. There would be no kisses to be exchanged tonight, just a simple close embrace. But it was enough.

"I'm scared," Ginny whispered finally.

"Ginny – "

"No, Harry, let me speak. These things… these things that happened to me, none of them were my choice. I didn't choose to be pregnant. And I didn't choose to have my Quidditch career cut short. And perhaps at first I didn't choose to keep the baby. But now… I just can't see myself being separated from it. No matter how hard I try to imagine it, I know I won't be able to do it. The mere thought of handing my baby over to Philip is enough to make my stomach turn."

"Ginny, you know I would do everything to solve this problem. I won't let Philip have the baby."

"But you can't make any guarantees, can you? And I'm afraid…I'm afraid… that you won't forgive me for the choice I would have to make." Ginny straightened up and faced him. "But how can I say no to someone I haven't met yet? If I stay with you and give the baby to Philip, what if ten years from now I happen to meet the child and she looks like my mum, or if it's a boy, like my dad? or even like Fred? I would never forgive myself Harry, knowing that I gave my baby away."

"Ginny, what do you want me to do? Are you asking me to stop loving you? If I knew how to do that, I would have done so years ago."

"I don't know, Harry. But if I choose you over my baby, who's to say that I won't eventually resent you for having to make that choice? And who's to say I would not resent the baby if I saw you married to another woman, carrying your child, knowing it could have been me? I just don't know what to do anymore."

"Ginny, I've been in love with you for so long, I don't know how not to love you anymore. Don't ask me to stay away from you. I can't…."

Ginny turned her gaze back to the outside world. All she could see were the rooftops of the townhouses across the street. Beyond that, the sky was dark. And though there were glimmers of Muggle lights, their combined brilliance could not dispel the darkness.

"I've been so happy these past several months, staying here, living with you that sometimes I feel that I'm living a dream," said Ginny, her eyes still looking in the distance. "But there are times, like now, that I wonder whether this is the most that I'll ever be happy. Sometimes I think… that the best thing to happen is if I and the baby just disappear…."

There was a far-off expression on Ginny's face that it scared Harry. She spoke as if she were no longer here. He grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her face back to him.

"Ginny! Don't you dare think that way! I won't let anything happen to you and the baby! Please, Ginny. Just believe me."

"Do you honestly believe that we can survive this?" said Ginny sadly.

"Ginny, listen to me. I'm alive today because my parents loved me, because Snape loved my mum. I know that. I lived through that. If there's anything I know, I know this: no power is greater than love. And you and I, we love each other. And we both… we both love the baby."

"You do?" said Ginny, hope coming back into her eyes.

"Yes. I didn't know it until now, but I'm actually looking forward to having a family with you. This family, with this baby. I'm going to be its father, no one else."

Ginny then broke down, releasing the flood of tears and fears she was keeping in, holding on to Harry tightly. He wrapped his arms around her, a steady pillar of strength. They stayed like that, long after Mrs. Weasley peeked in to see what they were up to, long after the busy Muggle night quieted down until finally they both fell asleep. They stayed together until dawn arrived and the new sun's light glinted in the horizon.


	17. Chapter 17

HARRY POTTER AND THE NECKLACE OF MENAT

Chapter 17

Ron stood under a clump of trees on top of a low hill, quite comfortable with the air warming charm he had cast around himself. His eyes alertly scanned the surrounding area, though there was little chance that anyone, Muggle or wizard, would stray into such an isolated place. But one never knew. A Muggle could suddenly turn up with a hunting rifle, or worse, _nature walkers _would appear over the rise of the hill (despite the weather) – for apparently, there were such things, which just goes to show how weird Muggles could be.

But the area remained as deserted as ever, so Ron turned his attention back to the lone hawk circling the sky. Actually, it was more than circling. If one knew how to recognize it, the hawk wasn't flying randomly at all. Ron himself could barely detect the bird's systematic, grid-like sweep of the sky. Harry had gotten good.

They had been scouring Britain for Galina's house for several weeks now. They had been at it since early morning.

Ron followed Harry's flight with his eyes. Harry must be chilled to the bone, flying for hours in this January air. Ron stepped out of the cover of trees, where Harry could see him, a silent signal for Harry to come down. Still, he had to wait for some time before, finally, the hawk flew nearer. It circled the top of the trees once then landed in front of him, transforming back to human Harry before its feet touched the ground.

"So?" Ron asked as Harry straightened up.

Harry shook his head. "I can't pick up anything. There's nothing here," he said, frustration creeping into his voice. Then he turned his attention back to the field.

Ron watched his best mate's profile. With Harry around, he could easily let his guard down; Harry never did his own. Ron shrugged then pulled out from inside his pockets a flask of coffee and some sandwiches his mum had prepared for them. He offered them to Harry who declined before pulling from his own coat his own lunch that Ginny had prepared for him. They then ate silently. Ron had taken out a map of England to study while he munched on his sandwich. He and Harry had already marked the map as to possible locations of Galina's house.

"That's the last in Scotland," said Ron. "We'd have to go to the Western Isles next." He folded the map and tucked it back inside his pocket.

Harry knew that and took another bite of his sandwich, not saying anything. Ron was filling up silences and Harry waited for his best mate to broach the topic he really wanted to discuss. When they had both finished their lunch, it came soon enough.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Ron blurted out.

"You know why," Harry said, his eyes still on the landscape. Ron didn't need to elaborate. He was waiting for his best mates to confront him about Ginny for months now.

"Yes. While You-Know-Who was still alive, that I could understand. But after?"

Harry had no excuse, and so did not say anything. He didn't want to go into details, especially since everything had blown up in his face. If he'd only told Ginny about his feelings for her earlier, then there would be no Philip. No Père Presumptive spell. And he wouldn't have to spend every day so close to her, feeling both fearful and frustrated.

Ron was watching Harry. "Wish you could have trusted us more, Hermione and I," he said.

Harry turned to Ron. "Are you angry?"

"I imagine I should be, but that's hardly the most important thing now, isn't it? Besides, it's quite obvious to everyone in the family you love her. And frankly, if you and Ginny ever do get married, you'd be making mum so happy it would be sickening to be around her for months."

That drew a smile from Harry and when he turned back to studying the landscape, his heart had considerably lightened.

"I just wish you two had gotten together earlier. _Much_ earlier," Ron added.

"I wish that, too," said Harry quietly.

Ron sighed. "C'mon," he said bracingly. "Where to next? We could drop by at Grimmauld. Bill would be arriving today with Luna," he added, watching Harry's reaction.

"Let's get a Ministry car," answered Harry instead, carefully keeping his face away.

_I knew it, _Ron thought gleefully. When Ginny received Luna's letter saying she'd be coming for a visit soon, everyone expected Harry to fetch Luna himself when she arrived in the country. He'd been so anal about visitors at Grimmauld until now. So it came as a surprise when Harry asked Bill and Hermione instead to bring Luna to Grimmauld. It was rather suspicious, to say the least. Funny, too, to watch the normally imperturbable Harry squirm. Had Luna finally succeeded in weirding him out?

They Apparated back to London, took out a Ministry car, then Harry Portkeyed them, car and all, to Balranald. The car could cover a lot more ground than Harry flying overhead.

Ron knew the drill. They'd scout the target area first from the ground, Harry feeling for traces of magic. Ron didn't really know what Harry was supposed to be trying to detect, though he had described it as very similar to the tingle of magic he felt sometimes with his phoenix wand. But in such a vast area as they had to cover, it was infinitesimal; Harry had to focus extremely hard to pick up the magic. Ron had tried to do it, as had Bill and Hermione, but they simply could not detect magic the way Harry and Dumbledore – from whom Harry said he first learned about it – could.

They spent the next several hours just driving through the region. They kept to the road, since Harry said houses and structures jumping out of the way of the Ministry car messed up with his concentration. If the prospect looked good, Harry would make a more thorough sweep of the area – by air.

For hours they drove around, and still Harry picked up nothing.

"We're running around in circles. We've been doing this the wrong way," said Harry.

"Perhaps, we ought to get back to Grimmauld, just to see if Luna made it back to the country okay," said Ron innocently, throwing Harry a surreptitious glance.

But Harry acted as if he hadn't heard anything. Instead, he stopped the car, killed the engine, and peered through the car's windows at the empty landscape around them. Then he undid his seatbelts and stepped out of the car. Ron followed suit, wondering if Harry was going to take to the air again. The wind was blowing bitterly cold. He waited patiently, watching Harry's back as the latter stood on the side of the road, knuckles on both hips. At times, Harry would look down at the ground, kicking a couple of stones around. The idle gesture was deceiving – he knew Harry was thinking. Inwardly though, Ron couldn't help but laugh. Harry must not really want to go back home.

At last, Harry turned around back to him. "Do you have your cellphone with you?" said Harry. "Call Hermione."

Ron raised his eyebrows. "You know it doesn't work with you around."

"It will. Ask her for Muggle records of reports of accidents in these islands in the last nine years or so. Not just accidents, but sudden illnesses, heart attacks – anything of the sort, anything of sudden nature. Tell her to look at not only police and hospital records, but civilian reports, as well. Check online for any mention of such things happening in this area."

"Hermione? But shouldn't the Muggle Liaison Office handle this?"

"Hermione will get things done faster," said Harry.

Ron and Harry grinned at each other – it was the truth. Harry sent a Patronus first to Hermione, telling her of the incoming call. She would have to step out of the Ministry to receive it. Then Ron made the call. Hermione would contact the Prime Minister's office herself and put in the request. Like his predecessor, a wizard had also been assigned as a secretary to the Muggle Prime Minister's office; he would facilitate the search more smoothly. Half an hour later, Hermione called back.

"Got it," she said.

"That was fast," said Ron.

"I told the Muggle Prime Minister that Harry needs the information."

Ron smiled. Harry's exploits and the three friends' role in the last war were not unknown to the Muggle Minister and he had given due importance to the trio same as the former Minister.

Ron laid out the map on the hood of the car, marking the areas as he listened to Hermione. Harry, who stood on the other side of the car, watched as more and more red crosses appeared on the map.

"Does she have a print-out of the files?" said Harry. "Tell her to send it over."

Ron relayed Harry's message to Hermione. A moment later, a sheaf of computer print-outs appeared on the dashboard of the car. Harry took it and studied the files more closely, adding his own marks on the map. Soon enough many dots appeared to converge around one particular area. Ron saw it, too. He looked up at Harry.

"We'll start here, then," Harry said, indicating a point on the map. Ron peered closer and waved his wand to erase the red marks on the map. He noted the name of the place where Harry's finger was pointing: Bornais in South Uist.*

They got back into the car and Harry Portkeyed them on the Machar road leading to Bornais. Then he stepped out of the car, Transfigured into a bird, and took to the air once again. Ron opened his side of the car, but remained seated inside. The car was a perfect Shield from any attack and was perfect too as an early warning device. That would allow him to keep his eyes on his bestmate while inside the climate-controlled Ministry car, same as he would standing in the open air. Only Harry was bat crazy enough to work in this weather.

An hour and a half later, he noticed Harry making closer and closer passes over the same area, circling over one particular spot. Ron left the car and stood watching, shielding his eyes with his hand from the piercingly blue skies. Harry made one last pass, then flew straight back towards him, transfiguring immediately a few meters from him. From the expression on Harry's face Ron knew right away that Harry was on to something.

Harry nodded to the car to indicate they should both get in, with Harry taking the wheel. Then Harry drove the car towards the spot over which he had just been flying but stopped several meters short.

"We're safe up to here," he said. He looked around. "Can you feel the wards? It's rather strong."

Ron did not know whether because Harry said so, but he thought he did feel something – a magical static in the air… or something of the sort.

Harry opened the car door and stepped out and Ron followed suit. They walked just to the front of the car.

"It's here, then?" Ron nervously looked around, imagining some of Galina's people might still be lurking around and would jump at them at any given moment. At any other time, he wouldn't think there was anything unusual about the area – it was as unremarkable as the surrounding landscape. One wouldn't expect the area would be so steeped in magic.

Harry nodded towards an area ten meters off the road. "Try casting a spell at that spot over there. Do it at an oblique."

Ron complied. "_Specialis Revelio_!" he cried, pointing his wand at the empty air where Harry had indicated. As soon as the spell left Ron's wand though, Harry immediately erected a Shield around them. The retaliating spell hit hard and fast, reaching their Shield in seconds, but the strength of Harry's Shield caused the spell to explode harmlessly into multi-colored lights.

"Yellow, violet, and blue-green lights," Ron said, looking slightly shaken by the unexpected force of the blast. He turned to Harry. "I don't recognize that curse though."

"A Sensory Blasting Spell," said Harry matter-of-factly. "Blows up your eyes, inner ears, and tongue on impact. It's Dark Magic, so there won't be any cure."

Ron felt ice-cold shivers down his spine but Harry was already taking a few steps back towards the Fideliused house. He extended a hand in front of him, feeling the air for magic. Tiny explosions went off at the end of his fingertips; his hand must have met the wards of Galina's house.

"Should I call for back-up?" Ron called out to Harry.

Harry looked back at him and nodded. Ron then sent a Patronus to the Ministry, giving instructions to their colleagues to Apparate only in the coordinates he would give.

Harry continued his Magical Sensing. From time to time, tiny explosions would pop around him, but Harry must have cast a Skin-Shield on himself, for he kept walking around and feeling for magic completely unaffected by the blasts of spells he was setting off. He seemed especially to be moving towards one particular spot, the magical blasts coming more frequently as he drew nearer. Harry then pulled out his wand and started disabling methodically the wards in that one particular area.

Then the sound of Apparation began popping all around them as the other Aurors started arriving. The sight that greeted them was utterly strange: explosions setting off in rapid-fire around Harry that he appeared completely phosphorescent. They turned to Ron for explanation but he merely shrugged and said, "Harry found Galina Kondesjuk's house." Finally, the explosions started to die down and Harry emerged, looking completely unaffected.

He turned and started to walk back to Ron and the rest of the Auror team.

"What do we do now, Harry?" asked Ron. The others were eyeing the area Harry had just been in apprehensively.

"You wait here. I'll try to go in first to break the Fidelius Charm. Then I'll come back for you and you can fetch the rest." He then turned to the other Aurors. "Half of you will come with me while the other half stay here and keep a look-out."

"Harry, I'll go in with you," said Ron.

"You can't."

"But how are you going to break the Fidelius Charm?" said Ray doubtfully.

"With this." Then Harry pulled out the mokeskin from inside his shirt. He extracted from it the pouch containing Galina's hair which he had pulverized into powder. This pouch however also contained powder from Galina's cloned hair, so he would have enough to use. If that didn't work, he had another pouch of powder that contained only pure specimen.

Then he took out a tiny pinch of the powdered hair and threw it into the space where he felt the strongest magic. A slender sliver of light appeared where the powdered hair came in contact, no more than a foot in length.

"I think the Fidelius extends to just outside the main house. I'll go in first. Nobody follows until I give the signal."

"But – " Ron started to say.

"I'm certain the entire house is booby-trapped," Harry cut him off, knowing they would just be wasting time arguing back and forth. "I don't want to take any chances. I'll send a Patronus to you at five minute intervals. If I fail to send one for more than thirty minutes, send for Unspeakables and Bill." Harry paused for a moment. "But, I'd rather no one come after me." He then handed the pouch of Galina's hair to Ron. "After I've transfigured, throw just a pinch of powder in the space directly in front of me, and then I'll try to fly in as fast as I can into the house – "

"What will you be changing into?"

"A hummingbird." Harry needed its speed to get through the wards quickly. He also needed to be small though not too small that Ron and the others would have difficulty seeing him. "You only need to take a small amount, a pinch would be enough. If I don't send a Patronus after fifteen minutes – "

"Harry, can't I go in with you?" Ron asked. Harry had been teaching them, the Aurors as well as the family, some of the protective spells the Romas often used. "You know I won't be able to come back home again if I let anything happen to you."

If this had been any other suspect's house, Harry would bring an Auror or two. But he'd had enough experience with the Romas' magic to know that if he did, he would only be putting in danger the lives of these men needlessly. In the first place, one had to be able to see some of the hexes Galina cast on the house. "Just be ready when I call out for you," he said instead.

So Harry Transfigured into the hummingbird. He hovered a feet away from where he intended to break through the Fidelius Charm. Then Ron took out a pinch of powdered Galina's hair and did exactly as Harry had instructed.

Harry flew as fast as he could into the magical gap that he almost collided into a stone house that suddenly materialized in front of him. He flapped his wings back hard, putting some distance between himself and the structure because some of his Shields did not work in the Transfigured state and he didn't know just which ones he needed right now. He spent a few moments just flying in place, simply trying to get a feel of his surroundings. The wards this side of the house were understandably more powerful and more lethal than those outside. But Harry had expected that, and was prepared for it.

When he had judged it safe enough, Harry Transfigured back to human. He looked back. He could easily see Ron and the other Aurors standing behind him, though it wasn't the same the other way around. He sent a Patronus to Ron that he was okay. Then he cast more Shields on himself before turning back to the house to disable its protective spells. He found it easy enough, for he was already familiar with most of them. Then he walked the few steps to the main door and began disabling its magical wards. He was more careful this time, lest he accidentally caused the house to blow up and collapse on him. When he had removed the last of the seals, he carefully opened the door then started firing hex-neutralizing spells into the interior of the home at once. He waited for a retaliatory spell. Nothing. It seemed Galina never entertained the idea that anybody would be able to find her house and breach its protections. He cast a Homenum Revelio spell but the spell that came back gave only puzzling wonky results.

Harry stood by the door for a few moments, simply listening and surveying his surroundings. The house echoed with emptiness and looked as if it had been lying undisturbed for quite some time. Still he moved with caution but except for the presence of several magical objects, he found the house surprisingly as harmless as the Burrow.

He began exploring the rest of the house, sending Ron progress Patronuses at fifteen-minute intervals as he had promised. A door stood on his left that led to a combined dining room and kitchen. Here too was evidence of life arrested unexpectedly: unwashed pans and dishes were still in the kitchen sink. A pot of spoiled food still sat on the stove. There was a door leading to the backyard but it was another door, looking nondescript, that caught his attention and sent his magical senses pinking. He guessed the room led to a basement. He checked the door and confirmed it was heavily sealed with magic. He stood for a time in front of it, wondering what to do. At length he cast a barring spell against it, so that if anyone were on the other side of the door, they wouldn't be able to come out and ambush him.

Then he left the kitchen and went back to the living room where a stair led to the upper floor. It looked like an attic converted to fit in two bedrooms. In the bigger room, he found a secret compartment containing documents and papers of the properties of some of the missing in the last war, on one of which he recognized the name Wiggins. He also found several gold bars, still stamped with the family crests of their original owners, and which obviously did not belong to the Rosiers. Harry returned the papers back and resealed the compartment.

Then Harry went downstairs and back outside the house. He brought Ron, Gavin, and Matt into the protection of the Fidelius Charm, allowing them to bring others in later. He apprised them of what he had found inside the house and told them of the room in the basement. He also told them that he would check the room by himself.

"I'll come with you," said Ron at once.

"You can't," said Harry calmly. "Whatever's in that room, the magic is particularly strong. You know what happened in Soay. Can't risk it."

"But – "

"If you don't hear from me in one hour, don't come after me. Go back to the Ministry and report to Kingsley. If in three days I've still not returned, seal the area. Bury it if you have to."

Fear crossed Ron's face. "Harry – " he began.

"It's just protocol, Ron," said Harry. He looked back at the house, frowning in puzzlement. "I'm not sure what it is. The magic I felt was very strong, but I don't know what it could possibly be." He turned back to the others. "But I didn't detect any Dark Magic either. It must be magic I've never seen before."

"What do you think it is, Harry?" asked Gavin.

"I'm not sure. But I think, another stolen artifact. But it has to be more powerful than the ones we retrieved in Soay."

"Should I send for Healers?" Ron asked, still feeling nervous. Ginny would crush his balls with her bare hands if something happened to Harry.

Harry shrugged. Then he went back inside the house and headed down the basement. He then removed the barring spell he had placed on the door as well as the door's own magical seals. At last he succeeded in disabling the wards. Harry waited for a beat on top of the steep wooden staircase, all his senses on high alert. He lifted his wand and cast light into the dark space below him. When still nothing happened, he began to carefully climb down the wooden steps. Harry waved his wand several times checking for signs of magic. A few rungs from the bottom of the stairs, he sent another feeler, which pinged strong magic back at him. It was coming from the second door on the right. There were two doors on his left. He checked them first. The nearest one was a converted lab, with potion ingredients along the shelves, and a dissecting slab. He tried not to think what Galina last used them for. In the larger jars, he could easily identify human body parts. The second room was full of broken stuff and furniture. He checked it for the tiniest presence of magic; finding none, Harry resealed the door.

Now he turned his full attention back to the single door on the right, the one literally humming with magic. He tested the magic on the door. To his surprise, the locking spells placed upon it were not particularly strong. Whatever strong magic he felt was coming from inside the room itself.

At last, Harry opened the door and found himself staring at a room full of… mist. It was so dense that Harry could not see anything, though it allowed for the light to come in to the room through the tiny window towards the back. From time to time, the misty cloud would light up as if lightning crackled inside. Every time it did, Harry thought he could see shadowy forms inside the misty cloud. He wondered what they were.

He held out his hand, and he could feel that the cloud of mist was the source of the powerful magic he felt.

"_Finite Incantatem_," he whispered. Nothing happened. He tried other spells and still the misty cloud would not dissipate.

Harry puzzled on what to do next. Then he remembered the Drekavac, and thought the crystals he used in that operation might work here as well. He conjured several of the desiccating crystals. Once he had enough, he kneeled down and gently rolled the crystals into the center of the room. He then straightened up and started reciting the activating spell. It wasn't apparent at first. But soon it became clear that the crystals' magic was working. The cloud of mist was thinning. And slowly, as every molecule of water was sucked out of the room, the shadowy forms were fully revealed.

They were people. But what were they? Petrified? Stuffed human beings? Frozen in permanent magical stasis? The living dead?

Harry was fully aware that his mouth was hanging open. He stood there just looking at the petrified people, frozen in some kind of arrested movement, all wearing expressions of fear on their faces.

He sent Ron another Patronus, telling him and Matt to come. Almost immediately, he heard the door upstairs bang open and the heavy sounds of footsteps as they came hurrying.

"Harry?!" Ron called out.

"In here!" he shouted.

Ron and Matt followed his voice and soon enough they were climbing down the stairs of the basement. They joined him by the door and when they saw what was inside the room, they too stood gaping, as stupefied as he was.

"What are they?" Ron breathed.

"I don't know," Harry said, but the memory of Nagini coming out of Bathilda Bagshot's body came to his mind. Magic he did not know existed.

"Do you think they're alive?" asked Matt.

"I'm not sure."

Harry stepped into the room. The air was still cold. He started walking around the people, wondering what happened, what they were, what magic was this.

He came near to one, and felt the skin. It was soft, and yet cold, as of the dead. He walked further around wondering who they were. They were people of varying ages, male, female, there were even a couple of children and one woman heavily pregnant. And then he stopped, as something caught his eye. He rushed through the maze of the human statues and stood in front of a small sized one. A boy, of Hogwarts age.

As soon as he saw the boy, he recognized him at once. David Wiggins. He looked exactly the same as his photo in his missing files. Like the others, the boy's skin was still soft, yet extremely cold. His eyes were open but his face, his face was arrested in permanent fear.

Ron noticed Harry and hurried over to his side. Ron too recognized David Wiggins at once. He and Harry exchanged looks.

Harry turned back to the boy. Using only his hands, Harry tried again the safest magic ending spell he knew: _Finite Incantatem_. Nothing happened. Then he began to chant more and more powerful spells, pulling out his phoenix wand in the end. Still nothing happened. Finally, he glanced back at Ron and said, "Would you please stand back a little?"

Ron jumped back a meter behind Harry; Harry had developed a tendency to understate things. Harry turned his attention back to the young Wiggins, pointing his wand on an empty space an inch away from the boy's body. "_Levismanus Nullificum_," he whispered. At first nothing happened as well, then slowly, the young boy's eyelashes flickered.

Harry and Ron stood back watching, waiting for what would happen next. Then, almost as if a switch had been turned on, the boy made one huge shudder as if emerging from deep water and suddenly cried out:

"No! Please don't hurt my mum! Please! I'll do anything!" David cried, his hands weakly scrabbling at the air, his eyes focused on the empty space in front of him. His voice came hoarse in intervals, as that of long disuse, but Harry and Ron understood what he was saying.

"Please, I'll sign anything! I'll do anything you want! Just don't hurt my mum and dad!" David continued to cry, his teeth chattering, his body wracked with shivers.

Harry grabbed the boy by the shoulders and started shaking him. "David! David!" But the boy kept struggling against him, begging for mercy from some unseen tormentor. But Harry held on, shouting David's name over and over again. It took a while for David to become aware of the strong yet gentle hands holding him, hands that meant him no harm. Slowly he lifted his eyes towards the owner of the hands. David frowned in confusion, finding the man's face strangely familiar. The glasses. The messy, black hair.

"Please don't hurt me," he said.

"I won't," said Harry gently, smiling a little. He conjured a thick blanket and wrapped it around David's shoulders. "Are you David?" said Harry, though he knew very well the answer.

The boy nodded, dumbstruck. He did not know why, but he trusted this strange man.

Then he suddenly remembered something and turned his face frantically around the room, his eyes wild with fear.

"We have to leave! Rosier, he'll be back soon! He'll kill us all! We have to escape!"

"Rosier's dead," said Harry gently.

"Dead?"

Harry nodded. David swept his eyes around the room once more, and landed on Ron and Matt, who was wearing his Auror robes. His eyes grew round.

"You're Aurors?"

"Yes," said Harry gently.

David, realizing he was safe, began to break down in sobs. Harry had to keep him steady by the shoulders as David seemed about to fall from weakness, from relief. Harry let him cry, gently holding him all this while. Suddenly, David raised his head again, fear marring his boyish face.

"My mum and my dad! Are they alright? Are they still alive?"

"Yes. And they have both been looking for you," said Harry.

Relief flooded the boy's expression but the answer seemed to have drained out all the strength from him. David's knees started to give. But Harry's quick reflexes kept the boy upright. He held David by the armpit, pulling in the boy against his own body.

The three Aurors stared at each other, Ron's expression gobsmacked. How long had it been since David's reported disappearance? Six? Seven years? And yet David looked exactly as he did in the last picture of him before he went missing. It seemed like no time had passed at all.

"Did you send for Healers?" Harry asked Ron and Matt.

"They're on standby in the Ministry," said Matt.

"Get them here as soon as possible," said Harry.

Matt nodded. He turned and was about to walk out the door when Harry called him back again. "And Matt?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"Tell no one. Not just yet."

"I understand," said Matt and left the room.

They waited for another fifteen minutes and soon the first Healers and nurses arrived.

Harry, who still kept David close beside him, turned the boy gently to face him. "David?" The boy looked up, looking weak. "I'd like you to stay with my friend, Ron. He's also an Auror." David looked at Ron and then at Harry. He was confused at the similarity of these Aurors to the Harry Potter he knew and his best mate Ron Weasley. But these two Aurors looked so much like his heroes – except they were a lot older. He swallowed his uncertainty and nodded.

So Harry handed David over to Ron, while he walked around the room, casting the _Levismanus Nullificum _spell on the frozen people. He had to ask the support team to stand back a little every time he cast the spell but didn't tell them the reason why. The truth was, there was a real possibility that he might accidentally weaken a person's magic – or even remove it completely – if there were no other targets for him to direct the powerful spell. The frozen victims, however, were protected from the magic nullifying spell he was casting since he could direct the spell on the magic surrounding them.

Then one by one the victims were taken aboveground to the emergency Healing tent set up by a combined St. Mungo's and MOM Healing team. The Auror team had also started removing most of the items in the room as evidence and for later inspection. Harry oversaw the transfer of the victims until only he, Ron, and David Wiggins remained. Then they too followed after the others, Harry the last one to leave the room. He paused by the door and looked back at the now empty space. It was still cold inside. He waved his wand once to check if there was any trace of magic left, or any sign of hidden spaces. Nothing. But as he started to close the door and seal the room, he paused again, getting a strong sense that he had forgotten something very important.

Aboveground at the temporary Healing tent, the response Healing team were already tending to the victims, applying first aid. David had already been checked and declared fine. Though his body temperature was still low, he didn't seem to suffer from hypothermia at all. In fact, except for the persistent and extremely low body temperature, all of the victims seemed to be in relative good health. One victim, however, Richard Mann, had his fingers gnawed to the bone.

Harry found him sitting on a cot, a woolen blanket over his shoulders, his fingers already wrapped in bandages. He was drinking a cup of smoking, dark potion, watched hawk-eyed by the Ministry Aurors' own regular Healer, Amanda Agamede.

Harry approached them tentatively. "Mr. Mann?"

The man looked up startled. "Mr. Potter!" For a moment, he seemed to be distracted at the sight of Harry and just sat there staring at him until the Healer cleared her throat loudly. "I'm sorry," said Mann. "It's just very difficult for me to understand. I know you to be a teenage boy, and here I am looking at you, a young man."

"Ehrm – " said Harry.

"Don't worry, Mr. Potter. When I saw you moving around, I recognized you right away. I couldn't help but realize; it's clear some time have elapsed. I still can't believe what happened. But I understand it was you who found us. You saved us. Thank you. Thank you. I don't know how I can ever repay you for saving us."

"Yeah, well, I'm sure we're all very grateful to Mr. Potter, Mr. Mann," said Healer Agamede, annoyed. She hated wasting time – particularly people wasting _her_ own time. "But if you do not finish drinking your potion, I'll make sure you're locked up in St. Mungo's for a full three months before I release you and order daily rectal examinations on you by all the Healer interns."

Mr. Mann turned to her, completely shocked, but Harry merely looked down his feet, hiding a smile. He was very familiar with Agamede's rough speech and blunt manner. She was notorious for being able to reduce fully grown men into young boys with a single arch of an eyebrow, force an Auror to strip down butt-naked for Healing examinations, no questions asked.

"And you, Potter, ask your questions and leave my patient alone so he could finish taking his medicine."

"Yes, ma'am," said Harry. He then turned to Mann who nodded to him.

"Mr. Mann? I understand you were taken by the Rosiers before the war ended?"

"I was taken, yes. But not by the Rosiers." At Harry's inquiring look, he added. "It was some weeks after the Ministry issued the Muggleborn-Registration Commission. Some Ministry workers arrived at our house looking for my wife. She was Muggle-born, see. But I've already sent her and our three children to America and was just finishing up my affairs here when they came."

"Go on," said Harry.

"When I wouldn't tell them where my wife is, they took me in her stead. They charged me with aiding and abetting a suspected criminal, though they couldn't tell me what my wife's crime was supposed to be. Then that Umbridge woman sentenced me to Azkaban. Though I was scared, I was just relieved that my wife and children had escaped. Then one day, the guards brought me out of my cell and told me that I was about to be released. But they didn't tell me that I was about to be released to the custody of Death Eaters. Then I was taken here. Turns out the Rosiers knew already about our properties and they demanded I hand over my assets to them. But by that time I had already transferred ownership to my three children. I thought if anything happens to me and my wife, at least they would be taken care of. The Rosiers were very angry when I told them that, and tortured me. They took me down here, and that was the last thing I remember. Except… except…"

"Go on, please, Mr. Mann," Harry gently prompted.

"Sometimes I would wake up. Well, I don't know. I'm not really sure if I really woke up or not. Sometimes I would find myself in a place and all I could see was a cloud of mist. Nothing else. I would walk for what seemed like hours and call out. But I never saw anyone or heard anything. But there were also times when I woke up in a cave. I remember. I remember because I tried to dig my way out of there," Mann looked strangely at his bandaged fingers, lifting them in front of his face. "I must have continued digging, because I don't remember getting these injuries."

"Mr. Mann, of all the victims, you're the only one who could remember anything when you were under the Rosiers' spell. Do you know why is that?"

"I'm not sure. But I remember when I was sentenced to Azkaban, all I remember feeling was relief. That my wife and children escaped that fate. When I was brought to my cell, I gave up hope of ever coming out of there. I was reconciled to the possibility that I would die there. But then some time later I was told that I would be released, and I started to hope. But only for a moment. Because then I was brought here, and the Rosiers started asking me about my properties. Then I realized they never planned on letting me go, that I was good as dead. But I've already accepted it. They couldn't hurt me anymore." Then he looked up at Harry. "Is it true, You-Know-Who is gone? That the war has ended?"

"Yes, Mr. Mann," said Harry.

"Then my wife and children are okay? I can bring them back now?" And then he took on a far-away look, his mind going someplace else.

Harry caught Agamede's eyes and motioned to her for them to talk. Then they left the patients' area out into the field outside. After making sure nobody could hear them, Harry turned to Agamede.

"What do you think?"

"It's not Draught of Living Death, that's for sure," said the Healer. "In fact I've never seen anything like it. This is the first time I've encountered such a thing. Well, all the patients are suffering from extremely low body temperature but it doesn't seem to affect them."

"So it wasn't Dark Magic?"

"You would be better equipped to answer your own question than I am, Mr. Potter."

"No, I didn't detect any Dark Magic," said Harry, smiling grudgingly.

"Is it true he doesn't remember?" the Healer asked.

"I looked into his mind," said Harry. "It was as he described it."

"And he doesn't remember clawing his way out of the cave?"

Harry shook his head. "No. I saw his memory and then nothing."

"Amazing!" cried Agamede. "You saw his fingers earlier, Mr. Potter. They were worried to the bone. But I've already given him Flesh Regrowing Potion. It seems to be working."

Harry nodded. He had also inquired about the pregnant victim. She said she knew that she was pregnant when she was taken. But she was only a month along. However, the Healers had determined that she was on her eighth month of pregnancy.

Then Harry noticed Matt hanging back a few feet away, waiting to be acknowledged, holding a thick folder in his hands. Harry nodded for him to approach. He was free to make a report in front of Agamede, who, as the Auror's regular Healer, had top clearance. Besides, she had taken an Unbreakable Vow never to divulge Auror business to anybody.

Matt drew near, nodding to Agamede in greeting.

"Mr. Potter, these are the files of the victims. We've all identified them. They were all listed as missing and believed dead." He checked the files. "The dates of the disappearances range from August 1996 to May 1998."

Harry nodded. He began leafing through the files. He found Richard Mann's files. There was an annotation added to it. It seemed when he did not follow his family to America as he and his wife had previously arranged, she returned to Britain to look for him. She was promptly arrested by Umbridge's commission and ordered to be given the Dementor's Kiss immediately and died soon after. Their children were left to their Muggle grandmother's care. She died a few years later. With no relatives left to care for them, two of Richard Mann's children were sent to a Muggle orphanage, while the youngest was now living with a Muggle foster family.

Harry sighed. How would he break the news to Mann that his wife was dead?

"Problem?" Agamede asked.

Harry told her the report about Mann's wife and children.

"Well, you can't tell him yet, Potter. We don't know what that kind of news would do to his mind."

"I know."

"In any case, I still have to detain the patients for at least a week, make sure there are no ill effects from the hypothermia."

"All the patients?" Harry asked.

"Of course. I still don't know how these people could still be alive today," said Agamede. "Why?"

"Can I borrow one of them?"

"Which one?" said Agamede, frowning.

"David Wiggins."

Agamede looked reluctant to agree.

"Just for an hour," said Harry. "Promise I'll return him myself."

Agamede scowled at him but said, "That's one less favor I owe you."

Harry grinned at her, and would have kissed her too on the cheek. But he knew he'd get a thwack on the head for taking such liberties.

So Harry returned to Ron, who was still keeping an eye on David. They were in the Healing tent, but separate from the rest. Ron stood up as soon as he drew near.

"They're preparing to take the patients to St. Mungo's," said Harry. "You'll oversee it?" Ron nodded, knowing Harry wouldn't trust the job to just anyone. Ron gestured to the boy. _Him too?_

Harry smiled and bent down to David's eye level. "Hi, David," he said. "Would you like to go on a trip?"

"Where?"

"I'd like you to meet someone who's been searching for you all these years."

~o~

Tiggy Wiggins looked desperately at her watch. It was thirty minutes past five. She tried to remember what food she still had left in the freeze box at home. She still did not know what to cook for dinner. Chicken curry? No, they had that just last week. She would just drop by the grocer's then see what she could come up with.

She then took the top file from her in-tray. Two more and she would be done for the day. She scanned the report. Another case of a mysterious electrical blow-up in Gloucestershire. She pulled her battered copy of the master list of known wizards living in Britain. She flipped the leaves until she reached the entries for the Cotswald district, running her finger through the pages until she reached the entry for Lower Slaughter. None. She turned back to the file and noted it as a possible magical child. She then added the report to the stack that would be sent to the Improper Use of Magic Office for further investigation. If it was a Muggle-born, they would be the ones to send the name over to Hogwarts.

She did not know how long it was before she realized that the room had suddenly grown quiet. Normally, the floor was full of background noise that its absence called her attention. She looked up over the top of her cubicle and was surprised to see the faces of her colleagues all directed at her. Many were standing up, gaping at her, staring from her to something or someone behind her back. Slowly, she turned her head around.

Harry Potter was standing a few feet behind her, a hand on the shoulder of a young boy.

She was unable to believe her eyes. The young boy standing next to Potter looked exactly like her son, David. David when he was just eleven years old, when he was taken seven years ago.

"Mum?" said the boy.

_But he speaks with her David's voice!_

Wiggins did not understand. She looked about her, at her co-workers, silently asking if what she was seeing was real. But they all were wearing the same dumbstruck expressions on their faces. Then she turned back to Harry Potter, who looked calmly back at her. Why was he with this young boy who looked and spoke exactly like her dead son?

"Mum?"

She could not understand. Her eyes kept darting from Potter to the young boy who looked very much like her David. But her heart, her heart was screaming: _Is this real? Is he really David_? She turned to Potter again. He gave a small nod. Then he gently prodded the boy.

"Go on. Go to your mum." He smiled at the young boy reassuringly.

The boy who looked like her David then took a few tentative steps forward, stopping in front of her.

"Mum," the boy sobbed. He stepped nearer, so close that she could touch him. Her eyes started clouding with tears, and she blinked them immediately away, afraid that the boy would disappear in front of her eyes. Her lips began to tremble, and pain seared through her chest. How was it possible? She could not understand.

She studied him: his hair, his eyes that were so much like his father's. She remembered so well, even the tiny mole just below his left ear. Slowly she lifted her hand to his face and brushed the lock of hair that fell upon his eyes. She couldn't help but allow her fingers to linger, slowly running her thumb along the boy's eyebrows. Her hands, too, recognized him. She still could not understand, but her heart, her heart would not lie to her.

How could a mother not know her own son?

"David," Tiggy Wiggins cried at last, hugging her son tightly to her chest. The room stilled in silence, few eyes remaining dry as the people in the room watched mother and son sobbing into each other's arms. A colleague slipped away. And a long-grieving father, who had thought he had forever lost his only child, would soon get the biggest shock of his life… and be happy and grateful for the rest of his life.

~o~

Harry rushed home soon after escorting the Wiggins family to St. Mungo's. He couldn't wait to tell Ginny the good news. He was so excited that he didn't even care if he met Luna at Grimmauld.

When he arrived home, he heard voices coming from the kitchen, but Ginny's wasn't one of them. Then Mrs. Weasley emerged from the room and Harry asked her, "Where's Ginny?"

"Upstairs, in the parlour room."

Harry nodded and climbed up the stairs, two steps at a time. But when he reached the second floor, he had to stop. Ginny was laughing. She seldom laughed like that these days – a girlish, carefree giggle.

" - not Isis. Hathor," Ginny was saying in between laughs.

"Well, I wouldn't be able to tell the difference. I can't read hieroglyphs."

_Luna_. Harry drew a deep sigh, bracing himself. Then softly, he knocked on the door waiting for a beat before opening it. He immediately frowned at the sight that greeted him. Ginny was standing in front of Luna, garbed in some Egyptian goddess costume from head to toe, complete with an elaborate hairstyle. They both looked up at him as the door opened.

"Did someone do magic on you?" Harry fired at once.

"Hello to you, too," said Ginny, smiling.

Harry walked closer to her, his eyes narrowed, studying her appearance. She was very beautiful. The Necklace of Menat showed prominently on her chest, the flimsy, white gown unable to hide it. But he would not even be distracted by the ample cleavage the dress was giving her. Her hairstyle was too elaborate for Ginny to do by herself and he didn't think Luna could do it, either. He only allowed himself and her Healers to perform magic anywhere near her.

"Harry, aren't you even going to say hello to Luna?" Ginny said, gesturing towards her friend seated on the long sofa.

"Hello, Luna," said Harry curtly, sparing Luna the merest of glances. "Who did your hair?" he asked again, turning back to Ginny.

"Relax, Harry. Fleur did it. By hand," said Ginny.

"And I dressed Ginny up," piped up Luna, unaffected by Harry's demeanor. "I Transfigured the dress before Ginny put it on."

Harry, mollified, allowed himself to relax. He turned to Luna, more amiable now. "Hey Luna, how are you?"

"I'm okay. Thanks for sending Charlie to pick me up."

"It's nothing," Harry mumbled uncomfortably. He'd sent Charlie to Turkmenistan to bring her to Romania where Bill and Hermione subsequently fetched her and accompanied her back to England.

"It's not nothing," Ginny said with a smirk. "The reason Harry sent Charlie to fetch you was to make sure that you're not an impostor. Did you know, Luna, that from Turkmenistan and right before you stepped a foot in the door of Grimmauld, you've been under intense scrutiny?"

"I knew that. I even volunteered to take Veritaserum. Hermione explained it all to me. I don't mind. Harry was just being careful."

"Thanks, Luna," said Harry gratefully.

"See, Harry?' said Ginny. "And you have to welcome her with such rudeness."

"It's okay, really," said Luna. "Maybe Harry is still feeling awkward about me seeing him almost naked."

Dead silence descended upon the room. Harry suddenly found the window curtains quite interesting. He wondered how Kreacher was able to remove and wash the thick and heavy fabrics. With magic, surely.

Ginny, meanwhile, had slowly turned her head towards Luna. "Excuse me?" she said.

_So, she has that quality to her voice_, thought Harry, _like a whip lashing._ His face had become tomato red. Luna just had to open her mouth, hadn't she? Ginny was obviously waiting for an explanation, her eyebrows arched, arms crossed, tapping her shoe impatiently.

"Ehrm," Harry said, scratching the back of his neck.

Harry glanced nervously at her but couldn't tell from her expression whether she was really angry, wondering if it was safe to remove the Shield he had silently erected around himself. Ginny might not be able to use magic but she sure could still throw stuff. Chaser skills and what she called Twin Survival Skills.

"I didn't know Luna was there, I swear," he tried to explain. And so the story started spilling out.

It was his twentieth birthday and Hermione had planned this birthday dinner for him. He was looking forward to it actually for weeks. Ginny had just left school and although she had immediately joined the Harpies training camp, she had been given furlough from the training on account of Harry.

He was just coming out of the shower with only a small towel wrapped around his waist when, to his horror, he found Luna sitting on the edge of his bed. She turned to him the moment he stepped out of the bathroom.

"Luna, what are you doing here?!" he croaked.

"I asked Kreacher to let me in," and then she frankly stared up and down his body and started writing notes on a clipboard she had brought with her.

"Luna what are you doing?!" Harry asked, panicked, leaning back his hips because the towel did not conceal much of anything.

"Well, I've been accepted at the School of Magizoology at Schonbrunn Zoo in Austria. When the zoo custodian learned that I personally know you, she wouldn't let me study the creatures unless I answer some questions about you. I thought it would be uncomfortable for you to answer them with other people around so I decided to come here instead."

"Wha - ? What questions?"

Luna scanned her list. "Well, she wanted to know if it's true you have a hippogriff tattooed on your chest." She looked up and scrutinized Harry's bare chest. Harry, a hand still grabbing tightly at the corner of the towel, tried to cover his chest with his other arm.

"Luna -" he whispered weakly. Did Luna always had such huge eyes?

"Hhhm. No tattoo," she murmured then wriggled down something in her clipboard. She turned back to Harry, pushing up her eyeglasses up her nose. "But you do seem to have a lot of scars, though." She squinted her eyes, staring at the part where Slytherin's locket burned against his chest and left an S-shaped scar. "Is that a worm?"

"Luna – " Harry cried ineffectually, though his mind was racing, wondering the moral and legal ramifications of Obliviating Luna, Transfiguring her, or maybe casting a Temporary Blinding Spell?

Then Luna's eyes started traveling further down his body and Harry now bent his hips further back so that he was almost doubled over.

"You have very knobbly knees," she said, peering down at Harry's legs. She looked back up at him. "Did you know that?" Then she returned to scrutinizing his legs once more. "And very hairy legs."

_What if he Banished her to the Saharan desert? _thought Harry. Nobody knew Luna was in his room. He could order Kreacher to keep his mouth shut.

Later on Harry would learn that when Luna made the request to speak to Harry, Kreacher brought her to his room. Turned out that when Sirius was a teenager, he used to sneak in women into his room all the time, and Kreacher thought that this was the same type of situation. Harry firmly told Kreacher to never let in women into his room again unless Harry himself ordered him to, which rule Harry found himself having to elaborate further when Kreacher had asked if he should let Andromeda into his room as well as she was the only female Harry ever brought home to Grimmauld.

When he was finished telling the story, he saw Ginny struggling to keep a straight face. He scowled at her. Glad she found it amusing. It was very traumatizing for him.

But Ginny was now looking at him with a considering look on her face.

"Soooo," she said. "Soooo." Her eyes raked him from head to foot.

_Soooo help me, Ginny, _he thought, narrowing his eyes at her. He did not trust the expression on her face one bit. — _if you don't say something right, you are surely going to get it. _

"Luna saw your body first before I did. Don't you think it's a bit unfair, Harry?"

"Knew you're going to turn this thing around," he said. Since moving into Grimmauld, Ginny had been at him to take their relationship a step up a notch, but he had steadfastly refused. Bill and Mrs. Weasley were barely able to tolerate his and Ginny's closeness. He'd be dead by morning if he took further liberties with her. "I told you, the answer is no."

"You mean you two haven't had sex yet?" Luna, who was watching them both, interjected.

Harry drew a sharp intake of breath. Hearing it stated so baldly made something flinch inside him. It was his and Ginny's business – nobody else's, goddammit! He quickly turned around and left the room without another word. Ginny watched him scarper out of the room, biting her knuckles. _Poor Harry._

He did not join them for dinner that night nor for breakfast the next morning. And he never showed his face again to anybody until late in the afternoon the next day, when Luna had finally left.

~o~

*thanks to tatzelwurmloch for the suggestion for the location of Galina's house. ;D


	18. Chapter 18

Harry Potter and the Necklace of Menat

Chapter 18

Harry half knelt, half sat in the basement prison of Galina's house, lightly drumming his fingers along the stone wall. It was the third time in several weeks that he had returned to the house, now emptied of every single item. Yet still he went back. Ostensibly, he was checking the room for hidden compartments, even though he had already searched every inch of the entire property with a fine–toothed comb and found nothing. He could not explain, not even to himself, why he kept coming back to this room, but he just could not shake the feeling that he was missing something important. But for the life of him, Harry couldn't figure out what.

"Anything?" Ron asked, standing guard by the door.

Harry heard the note of impatience in his friend's voice. He glanced back at Ron, an eyebrow raised. "Told you not to come."

"And have Ginny flail my skin raw for letting you come back to this place alone?" said Ron. He eyed the room suspiciously. "What are you looking for anyway? We've been through this house three times already."

"I told you I'm not sure. I just feel that this house hold answers for me."

Ron made a disgruntled face. They might have found the deeds and properties the Rosiers had stolen from their victims, but what Harry had conveniently forgotten was that those papers still needed to be processed. Good for Harry that he didn't have to do the paperwork – that enviable position, unfortunately, fell to him, Ron; Harry was wasting _his_ valuable time. Ron checked his watch anew and when he saw just how much of his time Harry had used up again, he made a long–suffering sigh that could rival any of Percy's.

"Alright, alright," Harry said with a bite of exasperation, slapping both hands on his knees and straightening up. "Just thought I'd give you some exercise – you know, a breath of fresh air."

"You call this fresh air?" Ron said, looking around the room in disgust. "Stale air, more like."

Harry had no choice but to abandon his search yet again. Briefly, he flirted with the idea of coming back here alone, but dismissed the thought outright. He couldn't afford to be reckless anymore. He owed Ginny that. So he and Ron returned to the Ministry, his curiosity unsatisfied.

But when they arrived at the Ministry Atrium, they met with news that immediately turned their moods sour. When they submitted their wands for verification at the security booth, the guard manning the station impatiently waved their wands aside, speaking hurriedly.

"Mr. Potter, something happened while you were out," said the guard. "A Foreign Minister arrived with his wife and son. 'Said you illegally Banished his son, a certain Philip Rawlings, and that they're going to file charges against you."

Harry and Ron exchanged quick glances. Then Harry turned back to the guard. "Where are they now?"

"The Consul–General demanded to head directly to the Prime Minister's office, but I sent them to your offices instead. I would have sent them away but they were starting to make a scene. I thought your men would be able to handle them."

"Thank you," said Harry, then he and Ron hurried towards the lifts, Harry gritting his teeth in an effort to tamp the anger bubbling deep from his gut. At the first mention of Philip's name, his brain had gone to overdrive, calling up to mind the arsenal of hexes and jinxes he had built up over the years. For several minutes, Harry indulged in the fantasy of casting these curses on Philip, his Auror mind carefully considering how best to apply each curse and in what order to prolong Philip's ordeal for as long as possible so that he could extract the most satisfaction.

And yet ….

No matter how appealing and satisfying the vistas that appeared in his mind might be, the other side of his brain – the part that was fully aware that Ginny's life was now tied to Philip's – would immediately shoot the image down as soon as each one appeared. And so little by little, his anger ebbed away. Glancing quickly at Ron marching abreast of him, however, Harry could not say the same thing of his friend, for Ron's ears had turned the color of darkening blood.

When they reached the lift lobby they had to wait several minutes for a car to arrive. Ron had already taken out his wand, tapping it hard repeatedly against his thigh as he danced on his feet. Harry tried to give Ron a warning look, as they were starting to draw the attention of the other passengers waiting in front of the lifts. Ron, however, seemed too far gone in his anger and no longer seemed aware of his surroundings.

As soon as a car arrived, Harry blocked the other passengers from getting in. "I'm sorry, but can we ride ahead?" he politely asked. "It's just there's been an emergency."

The other people were only too glad to accommodate his request, for Harry usually kept his head down, and to talk to him was considered something of an event. So Harry and Ron boarded the lift with only the two of them as passengers. As soon as the lift doors closed, Harry turned to Ron.

"Ron," he said warningly. "Philip can't be harmed."

But Ron seemed unable to hear him, his eyes flashing with murder. "I am going to kill that bastard!" he snarled and smashed a fist against his palm.

"Ron!" Harry shouted, pushing Ron hard against the wall of the lift, trying to make his friend come to his senses. "If you can't keep yourself together, I'm going to order you to stay back!"

That did the trick. Ron turned to him confusedly. "Stay back?"

"Yes! Stay back! I'll even Banish you if I have to!"

"Harry, Philip almost got Ginny and mum killed with the spell and everything! If it weren't for him, Ginny wouldn't have gotten pregnant! She wouldn't have needed the Menat necklace – "

"I know that! Don't you think I know that?! But we have to stay calm! Ginny's life and the baby's depend on it! If you can't handle yourself, then you better stay out!"

Ron ground his teeth, breathing hard.

"And watch what you say around people," added Harry. "You can't let anyone know about Ginny's condition. She'll do it herself when she's ready – according to her terms." The last Harry said quite emphatically. "We could give her at least that choice. "

Ron shook his head, as if he couldn't accept Harry's dictum, as if he felt Harry's order was a great betrayal. He glanced up once more, at Harry's unyielding expression, then suddenly, he sank back against the wall, deflating. He turned pleading eyes to Harry. "Harry, I want to kill him," he croaked.

"I know, mate," Harry said, without anger. "I feel the same. But we have to remain calm. Do our jobs. More than anything we have to make sure Ginny's safe. Can I trust you to do that?"

Ron showed no outward sign of assent, still, Harry took his silence to mean yes. He gripped Ron by the shoulders, trying to reassure. Then he turned his eyes forward and he and Ron spent the next few minutes in tense silence, both in a fierce struggle to plug the caldera of their respective furies.

The ride up felt interminably long, though it must not have been more than a few minutes. Then at last a disembodied female voice announced that they had reached Level II.

As soon as the doors opened though, they were slammed by a loud, grating, unfamiliar voice. Ron's anger came rushing back to him like a giant tsunami, the blood in his ears pounding with the force. His brows furrowed into twisted knits and he started to charge into the department's receiving area, but then Harry laid a staying hand on his arm. _Wait_, it said. _Wait_. Ron could no more disobey it as he could a direct verbal order from Harry. So they stood there near the lifts, listening.

"I'm telling you, Potter disabled my son's magic! He couldn't do anything! Not even a simple drying spell!" The voice said, which obviously belonged to Philip's father.

"But he can do it now?" a skeptical voice asked.

"Yes!"

"Oh, I don't know," said the same skeptical voice which Harry recognized as Ray's. "Did he really do that? I know Mr. Potter is powerful but completely disabling a wizard's magic?"

"Is such a thing even possible?" another voice said. Eddie, the rugby player.

"Then again, it _is_ Potter we're talking about. I've seen him do magic that if I hadn't witnessed it with my own eyes, I would have thought impossible." Matt.

"I know, right? Isn't he amazing?" a female voice said dreamily – a girl from the department's secretary pool, Harry guessed.

"What?! Wait! My son's the victim here!" the Consul made an outcry. Clearly, the conversation wasn't going the way the Rawlings wanted it to.

But the voices that continued clearly were still following the last thread of conversation.

"Do you think he used a wand? I seldom see him use a wand."

"Yeah, I would love to have seen that."

"Do you think he uttered a spell, though? He seldom does that, too."

And so Harry's colleagues continued talking amongst themselves, completely ignoring the Rawlings. Harry could only imagine the bewildered look on the Rawlings' faces.

But then Matt's thoughtful voice came up again. "Besides, I know Mr. Potter. If ever he did do that, he probably had a good reason."

Eddie's reply came next, his voice thin with threatening malice. "Yeah. I wonder what your son did if Mr. Potter thought he should be Banished. It must have been particularly bad."

"I'm telling you! We're the aggrieved party here!" cried Philip's father's voice, more desperately now.

Harry thought it time to step in. He gave Ron a final warning glance before walking on ahead. As he rounded a cubicle, Philip was the first to notice him.

"You!" Philip shouted angrily, sitting up straight and pointing an accusing finger at Harry.

The people crowded around Philip turned to the direction he was pointing. But Harry ignored them, taking the scene in first. Philip, and whom Harry assumed to be his parents, sat across Gavin's desk. Though he did not look exactly filthy, nevertheless Philip looked far from his usual dapper self – the mark of his hardships in the past several months seemed to have clung about him imperceptibly. His magic would have reactivated by now – as soon as he stepped foot in the Ministry, in fact, as Harry designed it to be.

Philip looked nothing like his father. The elder Rawlings had fading wavy, blonde hair, slack cheeks, and the red, blotchy face of closet drinkers – though he carried himself confidently with the assurance of a man who usually got things his way. The Consul gave Harry a look of belittling contempt. Harry ignored him, too.

On the other side of the Consul sat his wife. It was clear that except for the hair, Philip had acquired his looks from his mother. She looked as if a flat iron had been run through her entire person, from the roots of her black hair to the soles of her shoes – she was that polished. Both her earlobes sagged from wearing heavily jeweled earrings for probably decades. Her eyebrows rose into pointed arches and her noses flared as soon as she looked at Harry. But he let his eyes pass over her, too.

Aside from the Aurors whose voices Harry had already heard, there were other Department employees rubbernecking at the scene, including, to Harry's dismay, Percy and Mr. Weasley. But Harry acted as if their presence was anything out of the ordinary. Besides, they both had a plausible enough reason for being there: Mr. Weasley had his office on the floor and Percy could just be visiting his father. And Percy was often seen between floors in the course of his daily work.

"Sir," said Gavin, standing up and addressing Harry formally. His eyes, however, were dancing with amusement.

"What's all this?" Harry said, feigning ignorance as he approached the group.

Gavin handed Harry the complaint sheet, eyes still crinkled into a smile. Even as Harry began to read, Gavin continued to hover at Harry's elbow, with the patient grace of one with a worm wriggling down his bumhole. He gave Harry a couple of minutes to read in peace then said with a studied delicacy: "Been Banishing anyone lately, _Sir_?"

Harry gave Gavin an annoyed glance which only caused the latter to grin even wider.

Harry turned his attention back to the complaint sheet. The charge was rather thin, citing him primarily for Illegal Banishment. Philip would have a hard time proving that though, as he would have to divulge what made Harry do it – and that part was still under Harry's Compulsion spell. The magic disabling charm? Harry would like to see Philip try to prove that: as the accuser, the burden of proof rested upon Philip. Harry saw that the Rawlings had tried to stick him with other accusations such as _Endangerment to Lyfe and Property of a Pure–Blood _or _Disrespectful Attytude towards a Magical Person of Noble Blood and Bearing_ – all antiquated laws that unfortunately had yet to be removed from the law books. Harry snorted. No wonder his men were ignoring the complaints, which were ridiculous and silly. He saw that Gavin had already struck some of the complaints as non-applicable, making a note in bold, red ink that Philip was merely Half–Blood and placing a giant question mark after the word '_Noble_'.

Harry continued to read the sheet up to the last paragraph, turning the parchment over to make sure he had not missed anything. As soon as he was finished, he looked up, his eyebrows raised in a bored way. "Your son has been missing for months and you're only filing charges now?" he asked the Consul.

"We did not know that our son was missing," said Consul Rawlings. "It's not unusual for us not to hear from him for months. Philip is a very busy man. He has businesses all over the world!"

"I see," said Harry indifferently. "Is that all?"

Philip's face suddenly contorted into an ugly expression. "Is that all?! Is that all?!" he screamed, the veins in his neck sticking out angrily. "Do you have any idea what kind of hell I've been through in the last several months?! I had to swim across the ocean to escape the godforsaken island you Banished me to! Without food! Without even drinking water! And me not able to do magic!"

"Yeah, about that," Ray butted in. "Are you sure Potter did that to you? You aren't just blaming him for being a Squib, are you?"

"I'm not a Squib! I'm not a Squib!" Philip screamed even more wildly now. He looked positively deranged. "I'm telling you! Potter assaulted me!"

Harry ignored Philip's hysterics and turned back to Gavin. "Is the Interview Room free? Would you please bring the suspect in for questioning?"

"What?! What suspect? I'm the victim here!" cried Philip.

"You're not actually," said Harry coldly. "Know anyone by the name of Corry Britwhistle?"

Philip's eyes grew wide, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly. He glanced nervously at his parents sitting beside him.

Harry turned back to Gavin. "Process him," he said, indicating Philip.

There was something about the expression on Harry's face and the way he spoke that unnerved the people around him, for they seldom saw him angry. Gavin nodded, all hilarity gone. He rounded his desk and hauled Philip unceremoniously to his feet.

"Wait! Where are you taking our son?!" demanded Consul Rawlings, rising to his feet as well. "Whatever you think he's guilty of is a lie. My son's innocent!" He turned to Philip. "Tell him, Philip. Tell him you haven't done anything wrong!"

But Philip seemed to have lost the ability to speak so Harry answered for him, addressing the Consul directly. "Your son is a prime suspect in the importation and distribution of illegal potions into the country, the same potions used at a party that resulted in the deaths of several people. If you hadn't come in, I would have come after your son… eventually," said Harry, the corner of his mouth curling up nastily. "If indeed I Banished your son to the South Pacific as you said, then perhaps he should have stayed there, because now he's facing time in Azkaban."

"What are you talking about? My son would never do that! He doesn't need to! We have money! We're rich!"

"Doesn't seem to stop people from committing crimes," Ray butted in, taking a bite at the huge sandwich in his hand.

Harry then started to walk away to retrieve the Harpies files from his office. But then he stopped. He turned back to Philip's parents who both instinctively drew back. "On the other hand, you better come with us."

"What? Why?" Consul Rawlings cried nervously, unprepared to confront Harry alone – not when the law might be on the Auror's side. "We haven't done anything!"

But Harry had already turned his back again and walked on. As he passed Percy, he stopped as if he had just remembered something. "Mr. Weasley," he said, "would you mind taking the minutes of the interview?"

Though taken aback, Percy nodded, trying hard to act as if Harry's request was perfectly normal. After all, they were surrounded by a number of record clerks from the secretary pool. But Harry needed him to remove all references to Ginny, as her name was sure to come up.

Harry took only a minute to get the files then he went back out the corridor towards the small interrogation room at the end of the hall. He found Gavin busy settling the Rawlings into their seats, Philip's parents looking uncomfortable at the unexpected turn of events. Philip, on the other hand, was uncomfortable for an entirely different reason: he had to sit hunched forward because his hands had been tied behind his back. It wasn't necessary. But he had rubbed the Aurors the wrong way and he was being subjected to as much indignity as Gavin could get away with. Percy was already there, too, a quill and a clipboard ready in his hands. And, standing just inside the door, was Ron. Harry glanced at his friend briefly but said nothing.

After making sure that the suspect was secure, Gavin made to leave the room. He had half-expected Ron to follow suit but when Ron showed no signs of leaving, Gavin hovered by the door uncertainly. Ron should not be there. He looked back at the room, at Percy, standing just behind Philip. In fact, none of the Weasleys were allowed to go anywhere near the case. Gavin then glanced at Harry, standing off to one side, cool as a cucumber as always. Potter had not made any objections at all to Ron's unauthorized presence in the room. _Oh well, _Gavin thought. Should he really be surprised? The appliances were sold at George Weasley's store. A threat to any member of the family would not be taken sitting down by any of the Weasleys or by Harry himself. Philip should have known this. Gavin looked back at the suspect. Fleetingly, he felt a stirring of pity for Rawlings – a feeling that disappeared as soon as it formed. There were dead victims in this case, after all. He opened the door and left the room, his conscience unbothered.

When Gavin had carefully closed the door behind him, Ron glanced at Harry who gave a fleeting nod. At the moment, Harry only remembered being Ron's best mate. Percy was already in the room. Why shouldn't he allow Ron his chance with Philip? Truth was, he'd already decided on it the moment he entered the room.

Harry having given him tacit permission, Ron turned to Philip. "You do know what you did, don't you?" he said. "You do know how this is going to end, don't you?"

"You and your brothers have given me no choice," said Philip defiantly, looking up at Ron, his parents looking baffled at this exchange.

Ron's lips curled into a nasty smile. "How's Asia? You think you had a difficult time there? That's just a taste of what will happen if —"

Before Ron could finish what he was about to say though, the Consul exclaimed. "Then my son is telling the truth? Potter did Banish him!" said the Consul, his expression triumphant. He turned to Percy, expecting him to be taking down notes. But Percy had lowered his hands immediately at Harry's nod. The Consul looked bewilderedly back at Ron.

"I see you haven't told them yet," Ron sneered at Philip, taking note of the Consul's expression. "I guess you couldn't, could you?"

Mrs. Rawlings leaned across her husband towards her son. "Philip, what is this?"

But Philip was still keeping his eyes to the floor.

"Your son cast the Père Presumptive spell on my sister," said Ron.

"The Père Presumptive spell – that would mean…" Consul Rawlings turned to his son.

"Philip, does this mean you have gotten this Weasley girl pregnant?" his mother said.

_This Weasley girl? _Harry thought, frowning.

"We do not know that yet," Percy piped up, seeing Harry's reaction. With the attack at the Burrow and everything that had happened, he knew Harry could easily lose it. Harry knew it, too. Percy guessed that was partly the reason why Harry had asked him to be here. But he also knew that he and Ron combined would not be able to stop Harry if he wanted to vaporize the Rawlings. And Harry could do it too in the blink of an eye and even make it so that every single person in the building would have no memory that this day even happened. "It's possible that Philip is not the father," he added nervously.

Philip misunderstood Percy's nervousness for the comment seemed to stir something up in him. He looked up, his arrogance back. "Yeah, right. Keep telling yourselves that. You people know full well that no one else could have fathered the baby but me. If you have any other candidate, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

Ron had no answer to that and only a slight twitch of his jaw muscles betrayed the impotence he felt. Nevertheless, Philip caught it. He leaned back on his seat, a self-satisfied smile on his face.

Harry was watching this quietly. He lowered his eyes slowly to the floor, but mentally nocking another point to Philip's growing list of offenses.

Ron's face, meanwhile, had grown even harder. "Even if it turns out that you're the baby's father, you do know how this game is played out, don't you? If anything happens to my sister – anything at all –," he snarled, jabbing a finger in Philip's direction, "then we will come after, not just you, but your entire family, as well."

"Why, I never – " cried Mrs. Rawlings while her husband cried indignantly: "Is that a threat?!"

Ron turned coldly to the Rawlings. "You taught your son the magic, you should have told him the consequences as well."

The Rawlings turned to Harry, clearly expecting him to do something at this blatant threat, but Harry merely looked blandly back at them.

"Is this what the Ministry has come down to?" said Consul Rawlings. "Aurors threatening civilians! I assure you that this incident will not go unreported!"

"Report away," said Ron with a dangerous leer. "You won't be any less dead if the events do not turn out to our liking." Ron felt Harry's gaze upon him and he turned to his friend, but he did not see any sign of anger or reprimand on Harry's face. Instead, a seal of understanding seemed to pass between the two men. The Rawlings couple saw it and a frisson of fear travelled down their spines. Consul Rawlings opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again. Philip saw it too, so that when he spoke again, it was more in a conciliatory tone.

"Look, Ronald, why can't you just accept me for your sister? I'm prepared to marry her. I've got money! My family has money. I'll take good care of her!"

Ron laughed bitterly. "Do you really think this is about money?"

"Then why do you object to me so much? Sooner or later, word of her condition would spread around. What then? Your family's pureblood. With her and your family's association with Potter, the Wizarding world would have a field day with her. Do you honestly want that for her?"

Ron's jaw muscles were working furiously now. "Do you honestly think we care about Ginny's reputation?!"

"Then what? I don't understand! Look, Ronald," said Philip, "if this is about those pictures, I assure you those women mean nothing to me."

Ron was shaking his head. He could not believe the gall of this turd, how callous he was for not even thinking about Ginny's and the baby's lives. It could hardly escape his notice that Philip could not even mention Ginny by her name. It became clear to him then that there simply was no talking to Philip. He held a hand up, refusing to hear any more.

"I did not come here to hear any kind of excuses from you or to make any kind of arrangements with you. I'm only here to warn you: We lose Ginny, and you'll wish you've never been born."

Then he turned his back, pulled hard at the doorknob, and stomped out the room. The Rawlings murmured indignant sounds behind him, but dared not make them loud enough for Harry to hear.

"You can leave as well," Harry told the Rawlings after several moments. "You're no longer needed."

Nervous and rattled at such a brusque dismissal, which they were not used to, the Rawlings couple rose jerkily to their feet. They made confused goodbyes to their son and shuffled out of the room, their confidence earlier completely shot.

For a few moments Philip just sat there, dumbly staring at the door. He felt like running after Ron, after his parents. The entire conversation with Ginny's brother was all wrong. He had a feeling he made a right old mess of things, but he didn't know what he could have said differently.

Harry gave Philip a few minutes woolgathering, watching the fear run across the latter's face. When he was confident that he wouldn't suddenly turn Philip into a slug or something like it, Harry straightened up and walked over to the large metal desk, then nodded at Percy to signal that the interview was about to begin.

Harry's movement seemed to rouse Philip from his trance. He turned to Harry and spoke urgently. "Listen, Potter. You're Ronald's best mate. Could you just talk to him – no, talk to the family, they'll listen to you – "

"Save your breath. It's not going to happen," said Harry dismissively as he pulled back a chair and sat across Philip. He opened the Harpies case folder to the page that detailed Philip's profile, a quill poised in his hand as he readied to make notes. Though half-blood, Philip grew up in both worlds, largely because his mother had vast Muggle holdings. Mrs. Rawlings was a card-carrying member of the British nobility, and could trace her peered lineage back to several generations. In fact, the bulk of the Rawlings wealth came from their Muggle investments, and that explained Philip's numerous Muggle business ventures. However, many British wizards did in fact earn their living in the Muggle world. With the magical population as small as it was, there was simply more money to be made in the Muggle world.

But the file did not really tell Harry anything he did not already know about Philip. In fact, he had a much thicker version at Grimmauld that included the brothers' and Hermione's research on Philip, including the latter's movements months before the Harpies party. Harry had all but memorized both files yet still huge gaps remained. The brothers did not remember seeing Philip meeting with anybody suspicious-looking when they were tailing him, though with only a couple of weeks stretched out among them to do the job, they had barely time to notice anything.

Philip fidgeted in his seat as he watched Harry read, trying to remember what he had heard about the famous Auror. All he knew was that Potter did not hurt anyone, not if he could help it. As to Potter's much vaunted magical power – Philip simply couldn't believe that all of the things he'd heard were true. He stole a glance at the Weasley standing behind him. Percy had his face turned towards Harry but his ears were the same color as Ron's had been. Remembering that this Weasley graduated at Hogwarts at the top of his class, Philip hurriedly turned his face back to Harry. At least Potter was not as invested in Ginny as her brothers were. Philip figured he'd be safer with the Auror.

Finally, after a few moments, Harry felt he was in control of himself enough not to do Rawlings any harm. Calmly he looked up, glanced at Philip once, then lowered his eyes once again back to the file. It happened in a matter of seconds, with Harry not making any other visible movement, but in that span of time, he had silently cast the _Legilimens_ spell on Philip as well as a spell to keep Rawlings' face forward, his eyes directed to Harry.

"Mr. Philip Rawlings," said Harry at last, still looking at the file. "How long have you been importing Illegal Potions?" he asked, deciding to get straight to the point.

"I wasn't! I swear!" Philip squeaked, his nervous reply basically an admittance of his guilt.

"You don't seem surprised," commented Harry blandly. "So you did know what were inside those appliances you were trying to make George sell."

"I didn't know what they were doing until it was too late!"

"They?" Harry said, pricking up.

"The suppliers! The one who gave me the appliances!"

"And _they_ are?"

"I don't know who they are. Not really."

Harry arched an eyebrow, not buying it.

"I swear!" Philip squeaked. When Harry's face still showed doubt, Philip spoke hastily. "I met them in Hong Kong." He shook his head, and his eyes took on a far-away look. "No, that's not true. I only met one man."

Thereafter, Philip started narrating what happened, Harry watching it all unfold in Philip's mind. Philip was then attending a Muggle electronic trade fair when a Chinese man approached him and introduced himself as an appliance manufacturer from the mainland. Harry had a hard time trying to understand the man because he had a rather thick accent. Then the man invited Philip to dinner at a restaurant in the Wizarding section of Hong Kong, catching him off-guard. The Chinese bloke looked and acted completely Muggle, down to the Patek Philippe watch he was wearing. But so did Philip.

At the restaurant, the Chinese man proved to be a generous and gracious host, despite the communication barrier. He spun this story about how he once visited Diagon Alley and when he saw that Muggle items were also being sold at the Wheezes store, he became obsessed with the idea of seeing his own products in the store as well. Philip told the man that it was pointless to market electric appliances in the Wizarding World because they did not work, especially in places steeped in magic. But the Chinese man said that there was where he came in. That he had just developed appliances that could work in both Muggle and magical environments. The news wasn't new to Harry. He'd been in Japan before, and the Japanese Magical Ministry had shown him prototypes of these appliances. Though many people, including several staff members from the British Magical Consul swore to Harry that these things did work, none ever did when he was around. When Philip asked the Chinese bloke point-blank how'd he managed to get his hands on the technology, the Chinese laughed self-consciously and changed the topic.

All throughout the dinner and long after the food had been taken away, the Chinese bloke kept piling drinks on Philip, all the while talking Philip's ears off. But his high society upbringing had worked against Philip, for though he was clearly becoming uncomfortable with the situation, he was too polite to say so – and perhaps too afraid to offend, as well. After several hours of this, the Chinese man then shoved a parchment under Philip's nose. Harry watched as Philip blearily peered at the paper in front of him, which turned out to be a business contract. But by then Philip looked so hammered Harry doubted he knew anything that was happening to him. Then the Chinese forced a quill into Philip's hands and made him sign the contract. And as soon as Philip did, something strange happened. The features of the Chinese bloke started to change, and even as he spoke, his words became less halting, beginning to speak English more fluently. He still spoke with an accent, but vastly different from the one he had earlier. And just before Philip completely lost consciousness, Harry saw it. Philip did not consciously remember it, but the memory was there, buried deep in his mind. Harry only caught it because he was using Legilimency: The real face of the Chinese bloke as the effects of the Polyjuice Potion wore off him. Why, he wasn't even Chinese at all!

"The next thing I remember was waking up in my hotel room," Philip was saying. "and there beside me on the bed was a copy of the contract I allegedly signed. But I don't remember signing any contract. I don't even remember how I got there the previous night or when. It was a Muggle hotel. So I went down at the reception and asked the employees. They didn't know either. Nothing turned up in their security cameras."

"By then, I started to have a really bad feeling about the whole thing. So I asked my family's wizard lawyers to take a look at the contract and to try to find out if we could nullify it. But apparently it was prepared and validated by the largest wizarding law firm in the world and therefore watertight. I could try to fight it in the courts, but my lawyers advised me against it, since they couldn't see anything wrong with it and in fact the terms were rather generous. The company wasn't asking much – just that I represent the company's brand of magical appliances in England. And to market them on consignment basis. They'd give me thirty percent of the net profits – which in the industry is quite unheard of. And if the items are returned, then they'd cover the replacement costs and other overheads, as well. Anyway you look at it, it's a win-win situation for me. And that's what niggled at me. The contract was generous – too generous. But by that time, I started to feel relieved that I didn't sign my inheritance away. And so I just thought to myself that the Chinese bloke was just crazy or that he has made so much money that he didn't know where to put it."

"So what happened after that?" Harry said, frowning in concentration, as he simultaneously watched the memories in Philip's mind and listened to him speak – as if hearing a voice-over announcer annotating an event.

"At first, nothing. But a week after that night in Hong Kong, I received an email from my London store telling me a delivery had arrived. They were the company's appliances. Then the owls started arriving soon after that. They followed me even when I was abroad. All said the same thing: set up the meeting with George Weasley. I figured I would ignore the letters until the contract lapsed. But then Corry Britwhistle showed up at my store. He basically threatened me. Not in a way that you can outright accuse him, just you know…." He gave Harry a woebegone look. "And he said the same thing. Meet with George Weasley and work on the consignment deal with the Wheezes store."

Harry began to feel uneasy, his mind was racing, following the branches Philip's testimony was unfurling. Why George? Why did the syndicate insist on the Wheezes' store?

"So I went to Diagon Alley every day until I finally got the chance to talk to George. But he wasn't interested," said Philip, shrugging. "I left it at that and sent the Chinese bloke a Patronus – that's the only way I could communicate with them, see. Then I offered to buy the contract back – at no fault and with full compensation for their expenses – but they refused. But what can I do? If George doesn't want to do business, he doesn't want to do business. So I refused to communicate with them any further. But then soon after, strange things started happening around me. An employee or their children would suddenly get sick. Or a pet would die. Or an appliance we had just delivered to a Muggle customer would suddenly burst into flames. Doesn't take a genius for me to realize the company was leaning on me. So I went back to George and tried to negotiate with him again. But this time, I asked my parents' help, my lawyers, bankers – everyone I could think of – until I finally got the Muggle Prime Minister to talk to Kingsley, who I think asked Mr. Weasley. And then, my lawyers told me they'd set up a meeting with Arthur, and I demonstrated to him the appliances. Of course, he was over the moon about them, and I think he's the one who ultimately persuaded George to carry the appliances in his store."

That was what Philip said. But Harry remembered differently. He bore down into Philip's mind, who jerked at the force of it but didn't seem to realize what Harry had done.

"That's not the truth," Harry said.

Philip's brows creased, and he returned Harry's gaze questioningly. He seemed to debate in his mind whether to continue lying to Harry, and decided against it.

"Actually I sent an invitation to the Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office for a product demo in the Eye Tower in London, but I deliberately sent it to Arthur Weasley's office. Even before the articles about you three came out after the war, Arthur already had a reputation for being a Muggletech, you know, crazy about Muggle technology."

"I know what it means," said Harry.

"Well, anyway, on the day of the product demo, Arthur showed up as well. I've already cast several spells so that the Muggles wouldn't notice what we were doing, so there was magic in the area. Still, the appliances worked. When I saw Arthur's face that day, I knew I had my contract with George."

The quill in Harry's hand broke in two. Good, kind, gentle Arthur Weasley, who thought of gnomes as pets rather than the pests the rest of the Wizarding world did, being used a pawn in these Illegal Potions game, using his love for all things Muggle to what – help set up a trap? For it was starting to become clear to Harry that this was no accident. This was an elaborate, well-funded plan being executed. And what was the objective? Who was the target? George? Or someone else?

"And then I started getting returns," Philip continued, not noticing how Percy was repeatedly tugging at the collar of his robes, as if being suffocated. Unlike him, Percy noticed the air tightening. "No biggie," Philip mindlessly blathered on. "It was covered in the contract. I'd just send a Patronus to Britwhistle and then he'd appear in the store to take them. Sometimes, the appliance shipments would arrive at the store already defective and we couldn't turn them over to George. Britwhistle picked them up, too. He didn't seem to be bothered by it. That's when I started suspecting that they were doing something illegal with the appliances – I just didn't know what."

"And then in Diagon Alley, somebody pointed out to me that Britwhistle's an Illegal Potions runner. The next time I saw him, I confronted him about it, whether the appliances were somehow connected to drugs or illegal potions. He did not admit it, but he didn't exactly deny it, either. He just told me not to go poking my nose in things that don't concern me unless I wanted it wricked off my face. And then he laughed at me." Philip paused, as he had just remembered something. "Did you know Britwhistle had rotting, yellow teeth?" he said disgustedly.

"I didn't," said Harry. But the body they found in the council tower block sure had. And Harry remembered what happened next. George had been complaining to them about the appliances until finally he had had enough. He said he was tired of getting returns and complaints from the customers. He said it was giving his business a bad rep. He cancelled the arrangement with Philip's company and returned his remaining inventory of the appliances.

"They were very angry about that," Philip said. "I'd receive several owls every day telling me to go to Marbella, Spain to meet someone from the company and to bring George Weasley with me. But by that time someone had sent Ginny incriminating photos of me and I knew I couldn't persuade George to come with me to any meeting, let alone one held abroad. Then night of the Harpies party, I saw Britwhistle again just outside the venue. And he told me that if I didn't do as the company said, I'd find myself sleeping with Jesus soon. Then the morning after, I found a note in my kitchen table from the company, telling me the same thing: Go to Marbella. Bring George Weasley with you. The note was tied to a dead crow."

"Since there was no way I could do what they wanted, I knew I had to leg it. So I took the next flight out to Canada. I thought I might cool it for a while, hoping by the time I returned, Ginny would no longer be mad at me and I could persuade George to come with me to Spain. And I had a Muggle employee send an e-mail to my parents to go back to England at once. I figured they'd be safer here."

Harry had promised himself that he wouldn't ask questions about Ginny unless necessary, but he couldn't help it. "So in other words, you were just using Ginny?"

Philip glanced nervously back at Percy. Then he turned back to Harry, swallowing hard.

"No, but I have to admit that dating her makes things easier for me."

"I see," said Harry. His voice was quiet, but the way he said it reminded Philip strongly of the knelling of a metallic blade.

"I mean who wouldn't want to date Ginny?" Philip added hurriedly. "She's fit."

"But you don't love her," said Harry.

"Love?" Philip asked, genuinely surprised. "Is there still such a thing nowadays? Even my own parents do not love each other. In my family, it's all about money and connections and marrying within your class."

Percy and Harry exchanged glances.

"You want me to call Matt to continue with the interrogation?" Percy nervously asked Harry.

Philip was mystified at this exchange, but said nothing.

It took a while before Harry could reply, though. "No, I think we can finish this." But one question kept nagging at him. He turned back to Philip. "Why George?"

Philip started to feel inexplicably nervous, but sought to answer Harry calmly back. "He's the most vulnerable, isn't he? When George was attacked in Diagon Alley, it was all over the papers how you babysat him for weeks. And with the death of his twin, you and the Weasleys would do everything in your power to keep him out of Azkaban. I heard he and Fred were so close they finished each other's sentences. Imagine what the Dementors would do to his mind if he stayed just a single day in that place."

Harry's ears started ringing, and he struggled through the haze of anger that was threatening to cloud his reason. "And you knew this?" he said, a deadly stillness to his voice.

Philip must have sensed something. He looked up at Harry's face. He could read nothing in Harry's expression. Still, he slowly leaned back against the chair, awareness that he was in danger finally seeping through to his brain. It took him a long time to answer, because if he spoke, he knew there would be a nervous timber in his voice. He swallowed visibly, the instinct involuntary. When he spoke again, his words were halting.

"No. Not from the beginning. But the night of the Harpies party, Britwhistle indicated as much."

"How?"

"When I asked Britwhistle why doesn't the company just come here and talk to George Weasley themselves, he called me a fool. He said why would the company do that, with you around?" said Philip, pointing to Harry. "Then he told me to get George Weasley... 'cause that's the easiest way to _get you._"

~o~

In the Ministry of Magic, there were only two people who could be considered as Harry's seniors – his Department Head, Dick Pendrill, and Kingsley. The former was his senior more on paper than in actuality and Kingsley, more of a friend. In every case he had worked on, Harry usually kept his discretion, had final say on how and if to pursue a case. The usual protocol after he'd found a suspect and gathered enough evidence was to turn over the case to the Magical Law Department Office to file the appropriate charges and to merely provide Pendrill a copy of his report.

But this time it was different. Foreign criminals were involved. And that would mean sending a mission abroad which would, over time, entail a huge amount of money, people, and resources from the Ministry. And Harry did not have the authority to decide that on his own.

The rest of that afternoon till late in the evening, Harry was in a meeting with Kingsley and other Ministry officials. He insisted on pursuing the case abroad. But the other officials, including Harry's direct superior, Pendrill, were lukewarm to the idea. Digging the case down to its roots would only lead to international disputes. The British Ministers were already satisfied that the primary suspect had been identified and found dead – a clean close to the case, a befitting karmic end.

"Besides Harry, we've just been through a war," an official said. "The entire wizarding community, not just the Ministry, is still in recovery."

"Harry," said Pendrill kindly, "we've lost so many good men in the last war. We can hardly afford to enter a new one just to go after a criminal gang."

Since Kingsley was running a government of consensus rather than a dictatorship, he listened to the opinion of the majority and asked Harry to delay any action on the matter.

Harry couldn't say he was surprised by the decision. He was partially relieved, in fact. Ginny was about to give birth in two months. He couldn't possibly leave her to pursue a case. He was about to take his leave when one of the Department Heads, who was flipping through a copy of his report, suddenly looked up and turned to him.

"What about Philip Rawlings? Why isn't he in the charge sheet?"

_Dang_! Harry was hoping that none of them would take note of Philip's involvement in the case – which he had tried to downplay – not until he was out of the room. He had this brilliant plan of avoiding the issue, and generally making himself inaccessible to Kingsley and the other Department Heads – to whom he was technically a subordinate – until after Ginny had given birth and he was sure that she was safe.

"Ehrm," said Harry, the man with the silver tongue. All the eyes of the men in the room were on him. "Ehrm," he repeated again, just in case they had misunderstood him. He swallowed visibly and thought fast.

"That's why I have to go to Hong Kong and follow the lead. We still do not have the identity of the man who tricked Rawlings into signing the contract." There! Harry thought smugly. He just threw the ball back in their court. Now it was officially their fault that he couldn't go forward with the case. And then he followed it with much palaver about how it would be hard to make the charges stick and would only lead to a very costly litigious exercise with no guaranteed positive result. And that just for spite, the Rawlings could question the ownership of the galleons found in Britwhistle's flat which the Ministry had already arrogated. That scared the Department Heads from questioning Harry any further about Rawlings, for Voldemort's government had bled the Ministry finances dry and was only now recovering. They were extremely unwilling to give up the additional budget the found galleons had given them.

As he was talking, Harry was keenly aware that Kingsley kept rubbing his nose, his head down, hiding his face - something he only did when he was trying hard not to laugh. It was a testament to their friendship that Kingsley could read Harry so well. Harry was annoyed. If it were just the two of them in the room, he would give Kingsley the most reproving glance he could muster. What did he care if Kingsley was the Minister of Magic? He didn't have to come home to a house full of red-headed Weasleys, did he? Just let Kingsley try to explain to them why the case was being closed when the Ministry was far from identifying who really was behind the whole plot.

"So you see, I really must go and try to track down whoever was behind the smuggling of the Potions into the country," said Harry, trying hard to ignore Kingsley.

"But that is just not possible, Harry," said the Department Head of the Magical Law Enforcement with a sorrowful shake of his head. "Even if we want to, even if we think it's necessary, we just cannot spare you. You've barely been in the country - what, two months? - and we almost had an invasion. I'm sorry, Harry, but you'll just have to sit this one out."

So Harry came home late that evening dreading to meet the Weasleys for the first time in his life. He expected Percy had already recounted to them most of what had transpired in the Interrogation room, and now the family was sure to be waiting for him. Harry didn't really think the Weasleys would give him a hard time over the closing of the case. It was George he was worried about.

George had never really reconciled himself with Fred's death. He'd basically bottled his grief in silence, and now his grief was coming out as anger. Harry knew that George was just itching to vent that anger out on anybody – which was dangerous, for it only made him vulnerable.

He braced himself as he entered the door of Grimmauld Place. _Time to face the music. _

Just as expected, the entire family was waiting for him in the parlour room on the first floor, George pacing in the middle of the room like a caged animal.

"Well?!" George demanded, as soon as Harry entered the room.

But Harry merely headed over to the sofa where Ginny was seated and then sat on the empty seat beside her. Then she slipped her tiny hand into his and kissed him gently on the cheek.

"What?!" George demanded again.

Ginny's hand twitched in Harry's, but he gave it a reassuring squeeze. He wearily looked up at George and sighed. "The Ministry refuses to send Aurors to track down the Potions Traders," he said, his voice flat. He didn't want to fight with George over this. "And I won't send any of my men to investigate, either."

"So what are you saying?" George said angrily. "Are you telling me that the people responsible for this are going to get away with it?"

"My hands are tied, George. A Ministry directive," said Harry.

"That's it?" cried George incredulously. Then he eyed Harry up. "How about you? What are you going to do?" he said, pointing his finger accusingly at Harry.

"George!" Ginny yelled angrily, many voices joining hers. But seeing Ginny's face, her jaw jutting out. Harry was amused. If Ginny could only do magic, George would be seeing sense right now. As in _now_. Harry patted Ginny's hand to calm her as she shot George daggers with her eyes. So when he answered back, his voice was gentle.

"I was ordered to stay," said Harry. "And you know I can't go," said Harry. "Not now."

It was almost funny the way George drew in his breath and flared his nostrils at Harry's reply.

"George, think carefully," interposed Percy. "Do you really want this issue to break out in public? Think of how it's going to affect mum and Ginny."

George immediately rounded on him. "You're only saying that because you don't really care about this family! You're only concerned about your job and how it's going to affect your career!"

"George!" Bill shouted. He turned to Percy. "I'm sorry, Perce," he said. "George doesn't mean it."

"Percy's right," said Harry quickly before the discussion degenerated into a family squabble. "Besides, we can't file charges against Philip. If we did, we'd have to file charges against you, too."

"I don't care!" George said. "Besides, I didn't know there were Illegal Potions hidden in his freakin' appliances!"

"Neither did Philip – at first," said Harry.

"But later?" asked Mr. Weasley.

"It doesn't matter," said Harry, shaking his head. "The Rawlings could still make an issue out of it. There's prima facie evidence of George selling the appliances. They could still go after George using the same charges we'll be filing against Philip."

"So are you telling me that you're just going to let Philip walk?!" said George. "The fucking idiot is responsible for what happened to Ginny! He set me up!"

It was a sign of how the issue was more important that nobody thought of reprimanding George for his manners. Mrs. Weasley merely watched apprehensively. Harry had yet to say anything about what it meant to the family now that Philip was back. By law, Philip could demand that Ginny be turned over to him.

"I have no choice," said Harry, without heat. "Unless I want to incarcerate you."

"I don't care! I'm innocent! I know I'm innocent!"

"I care," said Harry.

"Hagrid was innocent, too," said Ron, standing over by the fireplace. "And yet the Ministry still sent him to Azkaban, remember?"

"But that was different!" cried George. "That's then, this is now! They don't just send people off to Azkaban these days!"

"But you don't know that," said Bill. "The Rawlings have money as well as influence. If they can't keep their son out of prison, then they will run after you."

"We can't take that risk, George," said Harry. "I can't let you go to Azkaban – not even for a day. I can't do that to mum. I won't do that to Angie and the kids. And certainly not to you," he said, fixing George with his stare.

George became silent. He stood there, in the middle of the room, looking round at his family. All looked worriedly back at him. Finally, his eyes landed on his wife. Angelina silently pleaded with him with her eyes. Then he turned to Harry again.

"You're not really letting this one slide, are you?" George asked Harry.

Harry looked George dead in the eye. "No," he said quietly, refusing to look at anyone, Ginny and Mrs. Weasley most of all. There was a deadly finality to it, and the air in the room seemed to be ringing with that one word.

George nodded, then turned on his heels and started to leave. Just as he was about to reach the door, he stopped and spoke back to the room. "Don't let anybody let me see Philip again." Then he left, Angelina rushing after him. They heard him stomping his feet and banging doors all the way to the third floor where his and Angie's room was.

After a while, Ron began to laugh humorlessly. "How are we going to break the news to George that Philip and his parents want to meet Ginny to talk about their wedding?" he said, slumping back in his seat.

~o~


	19. Chapter 19

HARRY POTTER AND THE NECKLACE OF MENAT

Chapter 19

… ._She died peacefully in her sleep. And this letter for you was found among her belongings..._

The letter continued and Harry read on silently. It was from the Serbian Auror who was with him the night they caught the Drekavac, informing him of Baba's death. Though her death was not unexpected, Harry couldn't help the pang of sadness he felt. There was another letter inside, the one Baba had written to him before she died. He could ask either Bill or Audrey to translate it for him, but he didn't think now was the time to read it. He wanted to give it his full and proper attention. Then he took out the photo accompanying the letter. It was of Senka and her sister with the puppy he had Transfigured. It was now fully grown. He turned the photo over and smiled at the childish scrawl, Senka thanking him in English for the dog. Harry hoped the magic he'd cast upon the dog would be enough to keep Senka safe always.

"Bad news?"

Harry looked up. Ginny stood at the door of the parlor room. The sight of her made him catch his breath. She was so beautiful. Perhaps it was just because of her pregnancy hormones that suffused her skin with the glow, as he'd heard Fleur say, but for him she had always looked that way. She was wearing a sleeveless, peach-and-purple orchid print dress. Though it did not completely hide her pregnancy bump, the clever cut of the dress and her small frame didn't make it too pronounced either.

"Sad news," he replied. He replaced the letter and the photo back in the envelope and tucked it inside his pocket. He straightened up, crossed the room, and stood in front of her. "Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked. "We can hold off meeting with the Rawlings until the baby's birth – until we're sure Philip is the father."

Ginny stepped closer to him, and Harry's arms automatically circled her waist. She gazed up at him, wondering if he had truly accepted that Philip was the father of her baby, for it seemed he had difficulty reconciling himself with the fact. Since Philip's return to England, the Rawlings had been after them to meet with her. But Harry had stubbornly refused. Then the Rawlings threatened to file a writ of _habeas corpus *_ before the Wizengamot and they had to finally comply. Harry and George tried to hold out against it but Ginny set her foot down.

"I'm not doing this to shut them up," said Ginny, flattening an imaginary crease on his shirt. "I'm doing this for Bill. He's become a regular old fussbudget, hasn't he, worrying about the spell? George has started making jokes about him behind his back."

"It's no laughing matter, Ginny."

Ginny sighed. "I'm doing this for the baby, too, Harry."

Harry couldn't argue with that. He held out his hand. "Ready?"

Like most of their outings lately, the meeting had become a family affair. The brothers all wanted to come, and since the attack at the Burrow, nobody wanted to leave the children behind either. So the entire brood left in a convoy of cars. Most of the family headed to a Muggle hotel just outside of London, while Bill and Percy – the most even-tempered of the brothers – left to fetch the Rawlings who had not been told of the venue ahead of time.

The Rawlings arrived an hour after the Weasleys had settled into the two-bedroom suite. The Weasley grandchildren and their mothers, as well as Teddy and Andromeda, had been tucked in one of the rooms. If Philip's parents were surprised when they saw that the entire Weasleys had shown up for the meeting, they did not show it. They had spent too much time in the Foreign Ministry of Magic to betray any kind of emotion. Philip, however, who had had a taste of what it was like to confront the family, was visibly nervous – especially when he saw Harry standing back near one of the windows. For no doubt it was a show of force by the entire Weasleys, a reminder and a warning to the Rawlings: Since the Dark Ages, the Père Presumptive Spell had always been associated with deadly clan warfare, a blood feud that would not be quenched until the last member of a family involved was dead. But the Rawlings couple must think that their position in both the magical and Muggle society afforded them protection, as it did at the height of Voldemort's power. What they did not realize was that distance, and the fact that they were too insignificant in Voldemort's eyes to be under his radar, kept them safe in the last war.

Neither was there any need to explain Harry's presence. It was public knowledge that Harry considered the Weasleys family. And with the recent attack at the Burrow, it was naturally expected for Harry to be there.

"Mr. Weasley, Mrs. Weasley," Mrs. Rawlings greeted them, extending a hand to Ginny's parents like a queen bestowing the grace of her attention to her subjects. Then she inclined her head towards Ginny, but did not inquire about her health or the baby's. Instead, she eyed Ginny from head to toe, scrutinizing every bit of her appearance. From Ginny's non-reaction, Harry guessed that this was not the first time Philip's mother had acted like this. His jaws tightened. Then Mrs. Rawlings gave the same appraising look on the rest of the Weasleys, though she passed her eyes over Harry. It was common knowledge in the Wizarding world that Harry was one of the wealthiest men not just in Europe but perhaps in the entire world.

Mrs. Weasley turned around to the rest of the family, looking uncertain. The meeting had already started on the wrong foot. Still, Mrs. Weasley remembered her Prewett upbringing, and offered the Rawlings take a seat.

"Look, I know you people are a little bit upset at the turn of events lately –" Mr. Rawlings began as soon as he was settled in his chair.

_Little bit? _ Ginny thought. She began to have a sense of foreboding. The elder Rawlings had been polite though formal the first time they met, back in Philip's townhouse. But now she realized that Philip and his parents were suffering from a serious case of foot-in-mouth disease. And she was supposed to marry into this family?

" – but I assure you that this is a joyous occasion for our family."

"It should be. You're associating your family with ours," said George.

Normally, Mrs. Weasley would have shown displeasure at his rudeness, but the way the Rawlings had been acting towards them, as if it were a privilege for the Weasleys to even be in the same room as them, was enough for her to do away with manners.

"It would be ideal for the two to get married as soon as your daughter has given birth," continued Mr. Rawlings, as if there had been no interruption. "In fact, we were wondering if the two could get married now, before Ms. Weasley's due date. As you know, I have a high position in the Foreign Ministry, a position I have taken care to uphold and keep for many decades now. It would be unseemly for any grandchild of mine to be born out of wedlock."

Harry and the Weasleys were all staring dumbstruck at him. They could not believe the cheek of this man. It could not be any less clear that he thought very little of Ginny and the Weasleys, that he was already assuming Ginny was in a disadvantaged position.

"Actually, there is no proof yet that your son is the father –" Mr. Weasley started to say.

"But I was made to understand that there is no other possible candidate for the baby's father but Philip?" said Mrs. Rawlings, turning to her son as if for confirmation. Harry now saw where Philip got the habit of rudely interrupting people. Having been stationed in backwater countries abroad for so long, the Rawlings must be so used to people fawning over them that they had begun to think that only their opinions mattered, without a care as to how other people around them felt.

"Still, we aren't sure – " said Mr. Weasley.

"But does it matter now? With the Père Presumptive spell and everything, don't you think that you are running out of time?" said Mr. Rawlings.

Harry's ears started ringing. He uncrossed his arms and straightened up slowly, like a viper uncoiling for attack. The movement was not lost on Hermione and the Weasleys. They eyed each other nervously. This meeting looked like it was going to end very badly.

"Even if you are not amenable to the two young kids getting married before your daughter has given birth," continued Mr. Rawlings, completely oblivious to the sudden tension in the room, "my wife and I still think it would be best if we lay out everything before the wedding."

"What do you mean – ?" Mr. Weasley began to say.

"Just to lay down the simple rules. Please, don't worry. We assure you that we will be very generous with your daughter. After all, she has made a name for herself of some sort…."

"… of some sort …" repeated Mr. Weasley. His voice was faint, but his ears had turned the color of slaughtered meat. To normal people, it should have been a clear danger sign, but the Rawlings remained hopelessly unwitting.

"Mr. Weasley, Mrs. Weasley," said Mr. Rawlings with exaggerated formality, "our family comes from a long line of both wizarding and Muggle nobility. And unlike others of similar heritage, we have managed not only to maintain our wealth, but to enhance it even more. Surely you understand that we have to protect the assets that our family has carefully built and expanded over the last several centuries."

"I'm sure I don't understand what you mean," answered Mr. Weasley coldly, reflecting the drop of temperature in the room.

"Here," said Mr. Rawlings. He pulled out from his inner pockets a sheaf of parchments and laid them out on the table. "This is just a preliminary draft, of course. You can take it with you for further study if you want. But as I have said, you have nothing to worry about. We will provide Ms. Weasley with generous emoluments for the duration of her marriage to our son. And even after, should the marriage break down, but with the stipulation of course that we will have full custody of the child – as provided for by law – and only if Ms. Weasley signs this agreement before Philip has to marry her."

Mrs. Weasley and the rest of the Weasleys had this gob-smacked look on their faces. This was the reason the Rawlings kept demanding to meet with Ginny?

"It's a simple prenuptial agreement," Mrs. Rawlings said impatiently, jabbing the parchments repeatedly with her finger, not understanding the delay in the Weasleys' reaction.

But Harry was already moving towards the table. In a couple of quick strides, he had crossed the room, surprising the Rawlings. He snatched the parchments off the table and ran his eyes quickly through the document, his brows furrowing deeper the further he went down the line. Harry's eyes were still on the parchment when he spoke: "Get out."

The eyes of everyone in the room turned to him.

"I said get out!" Harry said, his eyes burning with hatred as he turned to the Rawlings.

"Harry – " Mrs. Weasley said nervously.

"Mr. Potter, I'm sure I don't know what you mean by your actions –" said Mr. Rawlings.

"Take your papers with you and get the hell out!" Harry said, throwing the parchments rudely to the Rawlings' faces. He didn't care what the Rawlings thought of him. They were shit to him anyway.

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Potter! But this matter has nothing at all to do with you! It's entirely between the Weasleys and our family. You can't tell us what to do!" said Mr. Rawlings indignantly.

"I'll be dead before I see you insult any member of this family ever again, though I much prefer it to be you," Harry said. "Now, get out!"

The Rawlings turned to the Weasleys. But the Weasleys knew better than to step in when Harry was this angry. Hermione especially could tell that Harry was about to lose it and took matters in her own hands. She hurried to the Rawlings' side.

"Please, Mr. Rawlings, Mrs. Rawlings, let's talk about this later. You have to leave. Now!" She began to pick up the Rawlings' hats and coats and then prompted them to stand up from their chairs.

"Why! Of all the things – " Mrs. Rawlings cried, as Hermione unceremoniously threw her cloak over her well-coiffed hair.

The Rawlings were too slow moving though, unable to understand what was happening, and so Percy rushed forward to help Hermione and between the two of them, they started to herd the Rawlings out of the room.

"Wait!" cried Philip, who did not know how the meeting turned south so quickly. "I still have to talk to Ginny!"

"No, you don't!" cried George gleefully, glad that the Rawlings were being kicked out.

The reply got Philip's goat. "This is not over!" he shouted angrily even as Hermione and Percy struggled to push him and his still bewildered parents out the door.

"I say it is!" George shouted after the Rawlings' retreating backs. He waved his wand for good measure and a sign appeared on the back of Philip's and Mr. Rawlings' coats that said "_Merda Cacat_".

As soon as the door closed on the Rawlings' backs, Hermione and Percy returned to the table and upon seeing the parchments still there, Hermione waved her wand and _Banished _the papers back to her office. Harry could be emotional all he wanted, but they needed to be realistic about certain things.

The room remained suspended in tense silence: Bill would never speak against Harry in front of strangers, would never go publicly against him. He remained seated, deceptively laidback, an arm dangling on the backrest of his chair, drumming his fingers on the table as he watched Harry's back. Harry had gone back to the window and was now watching the street, making sure the Rawlings had truly left. Philip and his father had seen the signs George stuck on their clothes, and they were busy trying to remove them - their wands out in public - to no avail.

Harry was well aware of Bill's eyes on his back. He slowly turned around to face the room, then half-seated on the window sill. He stared calmly back as he waited for Bill to speak.

"What do you think are you doing, Harry?" Bill said after a while.

"What do you want me to do, Bill?" said Harry. "Stand by and stay quiet while Philip and his parents insult Ginny and your family?!"

"I expect you to do everything in your power to make sure Ginny survives!"

"What do you think I was doing all this time?!"

"Alienating the Rawlings does not accomplish that. At any moment they can demand Ginny be handed to them and when that happens, and Philip turns out to be the baby's father, then we would never see her again!"

"I won't let it happen."

Bill barked a humorless laugh. "You think everything will turn out your way just because you want them to? Your power has made you arrogant! You think because you believe it, you can make things happen? Well, I'm sorry to burst your bubble, Harry. The world doesn't work that way!"

"I know what I'm doing," insisted Harry.

"You know? Or you just think you know?"

"I think Philip has gotten himself mixed up with a dangerous criminal gang. And he's just using Ginny because he thinks being part of this family would give him the best protection."

"That's not even the issue here, Harry. Whatever Philip's true motives are, he has already cast the Père Presumptive spell on Ginny. The magic is already inside her! What you don't understand is that every word, every action you make that tries to separate the baby from its father is going to exact payment from Ginny. And unless you find something fast to reverse the spell – short of physically removing the baby out of her uterus – Ginny would eventually have to pay the price!"

Harry gave Bill a level gaze. "People said that there is no known spell that could block the Killing Curse. Yet, how many times have I been hit with it and I'm still here? And why is that? Because my mum loved me. I think Ginny and I can survive this."

"You're taking unnecessary and enormous risks with my sister's life!" cried Bill. "You don't know how incredibly lucky you've been so far. But you fail to realize that the magic – the luck you rely so much on – is not transferable. It's not as if you can just throw yourself in front of Ginny and take the curse yourself."

"You have to mean the magic for it to work, just like the Unforgiveable Curses," insisted Harry stubbornly. "There's no love between Ginny and Philip. The Père Presumptive won't work."

"Perhaps Philip doesn't care as much about Ginny. But if there's any kind of pureblood gene in his body, I assure you, Harry, he will fight tooth and nail for the baby. You were there! You saw it, too. When Philip learned Ginny was pregnant, there was nothing fake about his reaction!"

But Harry wouldn't listen. He shook his head, like a dog shaking water off its ears. "If there's anything I know, I know this: My mum's love for me saved me from the Killing Curse – and there's no known counterspell for that. I love Ginny and that's all that matters."

"Harry, we know you're powerful. I've seen you do magic that no one else can do, not even Dumbledore if he were still alive. And you've been lucky – extremely lucky. But you seem to forget that Ginny might not have the same luck as you. No matter how powerful you may think you are, there are just some magic that are beyond you!"

Harry's eyes flickered for the tiniest bit. "I'll take care of Ginny. I'll find a way," he said through gritted teeth. "If you don't like it, you can just follow the Rawlings out."

"Harry, I love you," Bill said with quiet grimness. "You're a brother to me now. But I hope I don't end up hating you for this."

But Harry refused to debate the issue any further. Ginny and her baby were his responsibilities now. And no amount of scaremongering on Bill's part could ever change his mind. Despite Bill's dire predictions, he still believed he could find a way to keep Ginny and the baby. Even now, he was already planning to spirit them out of the country as soon as they were well enough to travel. He stood up and walked towards her. "Ginny, let's go," he said gently, extending his hand out to her.

Ginny looked uncertainly at Bill and her parents. The last thing she needed was for a wedge to come between Harry and her family. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were also giving Bill nervous looks. Finding themselves in a situation way over their heads, they could only turn to the two most powerful wizards in the family. But in the current state where Bill and Harry were at a loggerheads with each other, they were completely lost.

Bill wasn't sure of the situation either. He would like to believe that Harry was powerful enough, knew weird magic enough, and that Harry and Ginny loved each other enough that they could render the Père Presumptive spell useless. But the cost was something they-simply-could-not-afford.

He sighed and turned his head away. He couldn't force the issue, not when Harry was being like this. Taking his silence as tacit permission, Ginny took Harry's hand and stood up. But then Hermione and Mrs. Weasley cried out in alarm simultaneously. "Ginny!"

Ginny turned around. Her mum and Hermione were both staring at the back of her dress wearing looks of shock on their faces. Harry grabbed Ginny by the shoulders and quickly turned her around. There was a spot of blood on the back of her dress.

"It's too early," he croaked.

~o~

*writ of habeas corpus - a legal petition to present a (accused) person in court, a phrase quite known to us Filipinos, esp in the 70s.

Merda cacat – shit happens.


	20. Chapter 20

HARRY POTTER AND THE NECKLACE OF MENAT

Chapter 20

"It's just a bit of spotting," Healer Agamede said as she straightened up and began pulling down the blanket covering Ginny's legs. "Some blood vessels ruptured close to her cervix. But they seemed to have spontaneously healed."

Harry and Mrs. Weasley both breathed a sigh of relief. They were the only two people allowed in the St. Mungo's room where Ginny was brought in while the others waited in the anteroom. It was the same room reserved only for Harry and so was already well-equipped for all kinds of medical emergencies.

Agamede looked Harry over, standing beside Ginny holding her hand. "I guess it's you we have to thank for this protection?" she said. "Must be nice to have Harry Potter as a family friend," she muttered as she pulled off the gloves she was wearing. But the Healer was no idiot. She was one of the few who knew of Harry and Ginny's relationship. Though Harry and Ginny had always been discreet whenever she was around, it could hardly escape her notice that Harry had a special interest in Ginny. "But that was a close one," she added, as she wiped the beads of sweat off her forehead with her arm. "They had another such case of abruption among the Harpies patients just last week. They couldn't stop the bleeding."

Mrs. Weasley and Harry fidgeted. Agamede had a tendency to speak morbidly, and they didn't want her doing so in front of Ginny. They especially didn't want Ginny learning about the deaths of the other Harpies patients.

"Are you sure that Ginny's out of danger?" Mrs. Weasley cried anxiously. She was standing on the other side of Ginny.

"It would seem that way," said the Healer. "We'll wait a week, make sure there are no more incidents. And then we'll see." She turned to Mrs. Weasley, frowning. "Why did it happen though? Has Miss Weasley been under stress lately?"

Both Mrs. Weasley and Harry shifted guiltily on their feet.

"Hhmph! I told you stress must be avoided at all costs!" said Agamede, casting annoyed looks at them both. "A simple thing and people can't even follow," she tsk-tsked to herself, shaking her head. She turned back to Ginny. "And you young lady, you ought to know better if the people around you have no sense to keep you safe. I hope you're not being complacent just because you have a magical trinket that is keeping you alive? It's a privilege, you know. Others are not so lucky as you."

Harry fidgeted again. This time the Healer noticed him.

"What? You didn't like what I said?" she snapped at him. "You should have taken better care of your girlfriend, then!"

Harry, who was not completely over the scare, stood there chastened like a schoolboy.

Agamede turned back to Ginny and peered down her glasses, fixing her with a stare. "But this is the last, young lady. Understand?"

"But it's not as if I deliberately went out to make myself ill," Ginny tried to reason.

"Excuses! Well, I won't have any more of it," said Agamede. "I want you on complete bed rest. No visitors allowed except for family – but not the kids. We'll wait a week to see if anything happens."

She waved her wand over Ginny one more time. The results must have been satisfactory for she nodded to herself firmly.

But the day before Ginny was about to be released from St. Mungo's, another Harpies maternity patient died and Agamede refused to release Ginny from the hospital until her scheduled delivery.

~o~

Harry could not understand. She was so small. But Ginny's throw had the precision and power of a professional baseball pitcher. He shouldn't be surprised, he knew. She was, after all, one of Quidditch's best Chasers. But still….

They had all been feeling nervous, as any day now, Ginny was about to give birth. One Harpies patient had already delivered a baby. Both mother and child were alive, but the amount of Potion X substances in the mother's body remained too high and the Healers decided to keep her in magical stasis. Then Luna arrived back from abroad, fulfilling her promise to be there when Ginny gave birth, joining Harry and Mrs. Weasley who had virtually been camping in Ginny's hospital room since she was admitted, Harry going out only for work. Now he had taken a three-week leave, to be extended depending on the outcome of Ginny's delivery.

They spent most of the days talking, frequently joined by Hermione and the rest of the family. Luna had a lot of stories to tell about her adventures abroad and it kept Ginny entertained. Then one day, as Luna was recounting to them how she had to spend an entire night dancing with a mooncalf, Ginny had asked to take a bathroom break. She went, accompanied by her mum. The bathroom door barely closed behind them when Harry heard Mrs. Weasley's cry of dismay. He ran quickly to the bathroom and wrenched open the door. Ginny was standing in a pool of water. Her water had broken.

Absolute chaos broke immediately, Hermione rushing in from the anteroom, while Mr. Weasley sent Patronuses to his sons. Agamede and two other Healers arrived, a Birthing one and another to tend to the baby. Ginny's original Healer was busy attending to another Harpies patient. There were also two nurses to assist in the delivery. As the room was being prepared for Ginny's delivery, Harry insisted on staying. But Ginny screamed "Hell, no!" and started chucking things at him: her pillow, the flower vase on the table by her bed, anything within her reach, including Agamede's eyeglasses.

Harry had no recourse but to leave the room, tail in between his legs, retreating to the anteroom with a bewildered look on his face. The Weasley men who had lived through the trauma of watching their birthing wives eyed Harry with similar smirks on their faces as he emerged from Ginny's door. Harry tried to act cool but none of the brothers were buying it. _The traitors._

But it had been hours. Mr. Weasley and his sons were getting dizzy watching Harry pace nervously across the room like a cat about to be given a bath.

Then the door leading to the outside corridor opened and Ron came in.

"Philip's on the fourth floor," he spoke to the room in general. "He's still trying to find out where Ginny's room is."

"Good luck with that," said George with a smirk.

Harry and the Weasleys had been playing a cat and mouse game with the Rawlings in the last several weeks. The latter had been pestering them for another meeting or even just to send them back the prenuptial agreement – already signed by Ginny, of course. In the Rawlings' eyes, Philip and Ginny were as good as married.

Not wanting to deal with the Rawlings, Harry and the Weasleys took the coward's way out and foisted Agamede on them. She was the one who advised them of Ginny's medical condition and the high probability that she could lose her life if she suffered from any more stress – and then gave them a good tongue-lashing while she was at it. So the Rawlings eased off of the Weasleys, but only for a time. As Ginny's scheduled delivery date drew near, the Rawlings began Flooing St. Mungo's to find out if Ginny had already been brought in. But Ginny was a denied patient, and her name did not appear in the record books. Then the Rawlings tried to pull their influence over the hospital board, but in the Wizarding world, was there anyone whose name, power, and influence were greater than Harry's?

But Harry couldn't care less about the Rawlings now. As far as he was concerned, they were non-entities. In any case, even if Philip found out where Ginny was located, he would not be able to enter the room unless Harry permitted it, which was a given as unlikely. Philip wouldn't even be able to see the door. The Healers and nurses attending to Ginny — whom Harry had personally vetted himself — used the Floo in the anteroom.

Harry turned back to the double doors that led to the main room. He eyed them as if he were considering putting glass windows in the upper panels so he could see what was going on inside. Realizing he was being daft (or more for fear of what Ginny might do to him), he turned around to resume his nervous pacing.

Just then the door to the inner room opened and Agamede's head emerged. "It's a boy."

~o~

It was not the joyous birthing that Hermione imagined it should be. For one thing, they were still not allowed to go anywhere near Ginny and the baby while the Healers monitored their conditions. At first, she and Mrs. Weasley were taking every opportunity to go near Ginny's bed, to offer her a glass of water, to wipe the beads of sweat off her face, to pat down her pillows, but Agamede soon shot them down with a deadly glare.

"Missy, if you don't stop your interfering, you'll find yourself lying beside your friend in no time soon," snapped the Auror Healer at Hermione. "And I assure you that you'll be in even more pain than what your friend here is suffering through. And that's no idle threat."

Knowing Agamede meant it, Hermione and Mrs. Weasley backed off. How many times had she heard Ron tell how they, the Aurors, the country's elite Magical Law Enforcement Units, would immediately drop their pants down as soon as Agamede entered the room during a physical? They were that scared of her. So Hermione and Mrs. Weasley joined Luna sitting in one corner of the room and waited until at last the baby came.

Then both the Child and Birthing Healer gathered around the baby, doing a thorough check, especially for traces of Potion X.

"I can't detect any, can you?" said the Child Healer, as she repeatedly waved her wand over the baby's naked baby.

"No, I can't either," said the Birthing Healer, breathing a sigh of relief.

But then Agamede, who alone was left to attend to Ginny, interrupted their conversation. "Healer Mallory, would you please come here for a minute?"

Hermione thought Agamede sounded tense.

The Birthing Healer quickly rushed over to Ginny while the Child Healer handed Ginny's baby over to one of the nurses and hurried to Ginny's side as well. The Birthing Healer joined Agamede by Ginny's feet and she too started waving her wand over Ginny. Ginny had started to bleed.

This time, Hermione, Luna, and Mrs. Weasley all rushed back to Ginny's side, carefully keeping out of the staffs' way, Luna losing her dreamy look. They had to crowd around one side of the bed because the Child Healer had taken position on Ginny's other side, fingers on Ginny's pulse, frequently throwing a flick of her wand. Hermione wasn't too sure what exactly the Healer was doing – whether checking Ginny's vital signs or casting Healing spells. By this time Ginny was looking extremely pale, her eyes glazed over. Hermione blinked away the tears that were clouding her vision. Mrs. Weasley had already taken possession of Ginny's hand so Hermione contented herself with touching Ginny's arm. It felt deathly cold.

They watched as Agamede handed to the nurse standing beside her the cloth she had been using to stamp Ginny's blood. It was previously immaculately white, but now was completely soaked in red. A strangled sob escaped Mrs. Weasley's lips. The Auror Healer gave the nurse a pointed look who then immediately Banished the cloth, even as she handed fresh ones over to the Healer.

By now, the tears on the faces of Mrs. Weasley, Hermione, and Luna were freely flowing but they did not make a sound, for fear they might distract the Healers. Then the Birthing Healer handed over another red-tainted cloth over to the nurse. She had to hand it over carefully, palm up, because the cloth was so soaked in blood it began to drip with the fluid. Hermione wiped the tears angrily off her face. It was then that she pulled out the chain of the Menat Necklace and gestured Mrs. Weasley to place Ginny's hand over it. Her friend was still unconscious, but Hermione wrapped Ginny's fingers around the Necklace. Quietly, Hermione "reminded" the Necklace that it had protected Ginny so far, and so it must continue to do so. It had to.

The two Healers worked frantically to stop the bleeding while the Child Healer had her hand on Ginny's pulse. Agamede kept looking up inquiringly at the Child Healer at intervals, which the latter would answer with a slight shake of her head every time. Hermione did not know for how long this went on, though years later, she would realize that those frantic moments ran only fifteen minutes, certainly not more than half an hour.

After what seemed like an eternity, the Birthing Healer's eyes suddenly grew round, then she cried out. "Look! Look! I don't believe it!"

"Do your job, Mallory," said Agamede curtly, but she looked hugely relieved.

The Birthing Healer then returned to her work and when she handed back to the nurse another used cloth, Hermione could see there were white spots in it. And soon the nurses were giving fresh ones in longer intervals, the cloths returning back cleaner and cleaner until there was no more spot of red in them.

Agamede then glanced at Hermione, who nodded. She then turned to one of the nurses. "Where's the Blood-Replenishing Potion?" she asked. The nurse then retrieved a bottle with a dark red potion in it and a small cup and handed them to Agamede. They had been discussing this part of the treatment weeks before, whether it was safe to give Ginny any Potion. The responses of the other Harpies mothers to treatment were varying. Even though most, like Ginny, had now minimal levels of the Potion X substances in their system, still some had suffered major bleeding episodes during or after giving birth or had fatal reactions to the Blood-Replenishing Potion the Healers gave. Agamede, Harry, Hermione, and the Weasleys consulted with each other heavily on this, but in the end, they really didn't have much choice. If Ginny suffered from hemorrhage, she had to be given the Potion. They would just have to trust that the magic of the Menat Necklace would continue to work.

Agamede then walked over to Ginny's side, the Child Healer stepping back to give way. She raised the cup to eye-level and began pouring a quarter glass amount of the Potion into it. Then she placed both the decanter and the filled cup on the side table near Ginny's bed.

"Ms. Weasley? Ms. Weasley?" she whispered softly to Ginny.

Hermione began brushing the sweat-matted hair off Ginny's face and she too began softly calling Ginny's name. If Ginny failed to wake up, they would have to intubate the Potion into her mouth. It wasn't a terribly painful experience, merely an uncomfortable one. A patient's loved ones often had a harder time watching their patient go through with it. It took a while, but Ginny eventually opened her eyes.

"Ms. Weasley?" Agamede said, her voice was extremely gentle, which Hermione was sure few people had ever heard. "Ms. Weasley?" Agamede spoke again, "it's time for your medicine."

Ginny looked confusedly at the faces around her. She seemed uncertain of her surroundings or why she was there.

"Ginny?" said Agamede.

Ginny blinked her eyes several times, then she nodded weakly and they all felt relieved. While Mrs. Weasley, Hermione, and Luna gently lifted Ginny up to sit upright so she could drink, Agamede took the measured cup from the sidetable. They all assisted Ginny as she dutifully took small sips from the cup. When she was finished, they carefully laid her back down on the bed. She was asleep even before her head even hit the pillow.

Thereafter, the Healers watched Ginny like hawks as they checked for any negative reaction. When, after fifteen minutes, nothing happened, they woke Ginny up again and gave her another quarter cup of the Blood-Replenishing Potion. They did this again for the next half hour. After that they increased the amount of the Potion to half a cup, giving it at still quarter-hour intervals. Then on the third hour, they let her drink a cup full. Ginny must be exhausted. But she dutifully obeyed the Healers, never once complaining. And Hermione knew it was because of Harry that she was trying so hard to survive this. The tears sprung back in her eyes as she brushed Ginny's hair back again with her fingers. Ginny's skin had started to get that pinkish glow again. Hermione was amazed at this turn-around. Ginny was almost at death's door just a few hours back. Ginny blearily opened her eyes at Hermione's touch and gave a weak smile.

Agamede, who had been stealing naps collapsed on a chair, awoke and looked around the room. She stood up and stretched her shoulders back. Then she went over to Ginny's side and checked Ginny's vitals again, running her wand over Ginny from head to foot. She did this three times. At last she took a deep sigh of relief. Then she bent over and smiled down at Ginny, her eyes soft. "You've been very brave, young lady," she said, her voice still gentle. Ginny smiled back at her.

Agamede then turned to Mrs. Weasley. "We've been very lucky so far. But I want her constantly monitored twenty-four hours a day for the next seven days, to make sure she doesn't suffer from any more bleeding. The next several weeks will be crucial. A nurse will be coming in every hour to check on her." She glanced at her watch. "I'll give you an hour. You can let the others in now, but only one or two at a time. I don't want them crowding around Ms. Weasley. If anything, anything happens at all, Floo me immediately. I'll just be in the next room."

She nodded to the two other Healers and the nurses. They would leave to give the family some private moments. The Child Healer checked the baby one last time, and soon followed after the others.

Hermione's eyes were still on the Child Healer as the latter left the room when she felt Ginny moving behind her. She turned around and found Ginny struggling to get up.

"Ginny!"

Hermione and Mrs. Weasley helped Ginny to sit up.

Ginny's eyes moved towards Luna who had drifted over to the baby. She, Hermione, and Mrs. Weasley had been taking turns looking after it in the last three hours while Ginny was asleep, but having been too worried about Ginny, had each given the baby no more than a perfunctory glance.

"I want my baby," Ginny said.

Hermione smiled. When it came to babies, Ginny was a Weasley all the way.

Not trusting Luna to carry the baby safely, Mrs. Weasley hurried over and took the baby off the tray. She gently carried it towards Ginny's bed. Now that Ginny was safe, Mrs. Weasley could turn her attention to her grandchild fully, and she now gazed at it with a tender expression on her face.

Mrs. Weasley then handed the baby over to her daughter. Ginny pulled the baby closer to her body, and it instinctively turned its head searching for a teat to suckle. Finding none available to him, it mewled in consternation. Ginny laughed… and cried. Realizing there was no help coming his way, the baby brought its fist to its mouth and started suckling it instead.

"The Child Healer said the baby is alright," Hermione said. She thought Ginny would want to know. "There's no trace of any Potion X substances in his body."

Ginny smiled at the news, her eyes still fixed on her baby.

There was an impatient knock on the door and they all turned their heads towards it.

"That would be Harry," said Luna needlessly.

Ginny grew panicked. "I can't let him see me like this!" she cried. She turned to Mrs Weasley. "Mum!"

So Hermione and Mrs. Weasley helped Ginny clean up and get dressed. Luna took over watching over the baby. When Ginny was ready, Luna picked up the baby to hand over back to its mum.

"The baby's wet," said Luna, clasping the baby's bottom. "I think it's time to change his nappy."

So Luna laid the baby gently back down beside Ginny and started removing the baby's cloth diaper. Ginny had brought her own baby supplies, but St. Mungo's was hopelessly backward, mistrusting anything Muggle and the nurse had used a cloth diaper. Ginny resolved to use only Muggle disposable diapers as soon as she got home. They all watched amused as Luna changed the baby's diapers, which surprisingly she was an expert of. When Hermione commented on this, Luna replied, "Oh, we had a teenage hippocampus at the zoo once who had a bad case of diarrhea. But it refused to clean up after itself. And so we interns were given the job of putting diapers on him because he was tracking feces all over the place, especially at a fountain in the Muggle part of the zoo where there's a statue of a Triton. The hippocamp was quite unapologetic about it, too. He said the Triton was an abomination."

Ginny started to shake with laughter, but Hermione shook her head disapprovingly at her. She didn't think Ginny should jiggle about. Mrs. Weasley, who wasn't really used to Luna, was staring at the blond witch with her mouth gaping open.

Luna completely oblivious, was now putting fresh diaper on the baby. "He has Ginny's eyes," she said nonchalantly, "but he's got Harry's knees."

An embarrassed silence descended upon the room, Hermione and Mrs. Weasley exchanging nervous glances. But the comment seemed to hang in the air and, lest Luna repeat the same comment when other people were around, Hermione saw it fit to correct her friend.

"Um, Luna, Harry's not actually the father," said Hermione.

Luna straightened up, looking puzzledly at Hermione. "He's not? If Harry's not the father, how come the baby has Harry's knees?" And she glanced down at the baby's thin legs, kicking in protest.

Hermione glanced nervously at Ginny, afraid of how it might affect her friend. A cloud seemed to pass over Ginny's face, where moments before Ginny was happy and content.

Hermione turned back to Luna. "Don't be so ridiculous, Luna," she said. "How can Harry possibly be the father of Ginny's baby when he hasn't even seen Ginny the time she conceived the baby?"

"I don't know," said Luna. She peered down once again at the baby who now found comfort in sucking his fingers. "I think he has Harry's nose, as well."

"Luna," Hermione began to patiently explain even though she was getting seriously annoyed, "by the time Ginny conceived the baby, Harry was already out of the country."

_That's not right, _thought Ginny. She saw Harry that day, at the Burrow. She felt she ought to set the record straight. "Actually, Hermione, I did see Harry."

Hermione rounded on her immediately. "What? When?"

"The morning after the party. The day he left England."

"What? Why didn't you say so? Where did you see him?"

"At the Burrow," said Ginny, for some ridiculous reason she felt suddenly shy. "He dropped by. He was looking for you and Ron actually. He even showed me…" Ginny's voice trailed off. She looked down her hospital gown, and took out the Necklace of Menat. She stared at it, trying to remember exactly what happened that day. It had been a while since she last thought of that day, not wanting to remember how Harry had broken her heart, leaving abruptly.

Suddenly another memory inexplicably rose in her mind.

_'There, you look like Isis now,' _Luna was saying.

And she, Ginny, was laughing. '_Not Isis, Hathor.'_

But what if Luna was right?_ What if it's not Hathor... _

_...but Isis? _

"Ginny?" Hermione asked uncertainly, seeing the rapid changes of expression on Ginny's face.

Ginny looked up, her eyes shining brightly, heart hammering with the wonder of this fresh realization. "He was showing me this Necklace...Hermione, if you see this necklace for the first time, who do you think it belongs to?"

"What?"

"The necklace!"

"It's the Necklace of Menat," said Hermione confusedly.

"But whose Necklace? Hathor's or Isis's?"

"Isn't it the same? The Necklace is the same whether it belongs to Hathor or Isis."

"Is it Hermione? Think!"

Hermione thought for a minute. Then her eyes suddenly grew round. The Muggles had often confused the two ancient Egyptian witches. How later generations had combined the two goddesses into one, depicting Hathor in the same garb as Isis, down to the Menat necklace. But in fact they were two different witches. Though Hathor was generations older, Isis was no less powerful. Hermione tried to remember the story about Isis, how her husband was murdered and she travelled to the ends of the earth to find her husband's remains until she finally succeeded in finding his body. She breathed life back into him, and they conceived a baby – posthumously.

Was that what Galina Kondesjuk trying to do?

Hermione turned to Ginny, disbelief, fear, wonder, hope, amazement – all warring within her, and saw the same expressions on Ginny's face. But then something suddenly occurred to her.

"Ginny! Did you touch it, then?!" said Hermione.

"I.…" said Ginny, trying to remember. She remembered tracing the hieroglyphs with her finger and then feeling the bolt of electricity that seemed to hurtle through her body. But she thought it was because her and Harry's skins were in contact. She and Harry were about to kiss…and then… and then…. She couldn't remember clearly, her memory seemed fuzzy. She remembered the curt expression on his face, though, him leaving, walking away from her.

_But is it possible? _How could it be?

While Ginny was still trying to wrap her head about the possibility of what might have happened, Hermione was already marching towards the door. She wrenched it open, almost off its hinges. Ginny had only a glimpse of her dad and brothers in the anteroom before Hermione's form blocked her view. Then Hermione called out in a curt voice: "Harry, would you come in here a minute?"

Harry stared around at the rest of the Weasleys, wondering what it was all about. He entered the room, wary to see Hermione looking like a Spanish _toro _about to charge. Harry wasn't certain whether he imagined it or not, but he thought smoke was coming out of Hermione's nostrils. Her hair, too, seemed a lot frizzier. He was greatly mystified. He'd only seen Hermione this angry once, the night Ron returned to them in the Forest of Dean during the search for the Horcruxes.

As soon as Harry was in the room, Hermione banged the door close behind him.

"Harry, did you or did you not let Ginny touch a powerful magical object when you don't even know what it does?" she said without preamble.

"What?"

"Did you or did you not let Ginny touch the Necklace of Menat right after you got it from Soay?" said Hermione.

"Ehrm…" he said, not sure what the point of her questioning was. He hardly thought it the time for her to ask him details about a case. "Hermione, what's this all about? Is Ginny okay?" he said, glancing anxiously at Ginny sitting on the bed. He wasn't sure, but Ginny looked a bit pale. As if she had suffered a great shock. "Agamede said – "

"You stupid son of a bitch!" Hermione screamed. "What, you go anywhere near Ginny and you use your other head for thinking?! "

Harry's jaws dropped. _Is Hermione insane? _Mrs. Weasley was in the room! At the corner of his eye he thought Ginny had started to shake with laughter. Perhaps for Hermione finally becoming unhinged.

"You dumb, stupid arse!" Hermione was screaming, kicking him on the shins. "After Dumbledore! After Marvolo's ring! Still you let Ginny touch a magical object when you don't even know what it is used for!"

"Ouch! Hermione! What's going on?! Why are you doing this?!" said Harry, jumping back to avoid Hermione's rather pointed shoes.

"What's going on?! You wanna know what's going on?! That's what's going on!" she cried, pointing to Ginny on the bed.

"Eh? Hermione, what are you talking about?" Harry was starting to get seriously afraid. Hermione seemed to be channeling the young girl in 'The Exorcist. '

"Because that Necklace, that Necklace wasn't Hathor's! It belonged to Isis! And you know Isis, don't you?"

"Not really. But I'm sure Bill does." Harry sincerely thought he was pointing out a rather plain and obvious fact.

Hermione aimed another kick — at his balls.

"Hermione – " both Ginny and Mrs. Weasley cried faintly even as Harry crossed his hands in front of him.

Hermione blew the strands of hair off her face. "Luna seems to think that the baby has your knees!" Hermione screamed. "Now explain to me how you and the baby seem to have the same knees. And I'm sure if you look more closely, you'll be having other similar body parts as well!"

"Eh?" said Harry, feeling very Dudley at the moment.

"Say hello to your son, you dumb fool!" cried Hermione, pointing to the bundle beside Ginny.

"What?!"

Harry looked around the room. Mrs. Weasley was beaming, both her hands pressed against the sides of her face, her eyes tearing. Luna, on the other hand, was humming a bar from, _of all things, _Harry thought, _'I'm a Barbie Girl.' _

Finally his eyes landed on Ginny.

"Harry, the sundisk was still glowing when you showed it to me," she said.

_So what — it meant what?_ thought Harry vacuously at first. But the gears in his mind began cranking up soon enough and suggested a rather incredible thought. _Whatever magic Galina was trying to perform was still at work? _

He strode across the room, towards Ginny's bed. He looked down at the baby. It was completely swaddled in a soft blanket and only its face was showing. Slowly, his hands slightly shaking, Harry started to peel the blanket off the baby and opened its front, exposing the baby's legs. He examined it. True enough, the baby's knees looked exactly like his, thin and knobbly. He turned to Ginny, eyes questioning. _The baby is ours? _

He didn't understand. He didn't remember any of his lessons in Magical History. Sure he knew the name Isis, but he didn't know much about her history.

"Harry, Isis brought her husband from the dead and they had a baby — after he already died," said Hermione, as if in response to his thoughts.

"But how?" he cried to the room. "And the Necklace. Ginny said…." What did Ginny say again? Harry tried to remember, but his brain seemed to have stopped working anew.

"I told you Harry," said Ginny. "I couldn't really read the hieroglyphs. The language is too ancient. Only Bill can."

"Well, we still can't ask Bill to take a look at the Menat necklace," said Hermione.

"But he can read the hieroglyphs," piped up Luna. They all turned their heads towards her. "It's easy. Just trace the etchings with charcoal on a piece of parchment. The thinner, the better."

Hermione smacked her forehead. "Why didn't I think of that?"

But Harry was hardly listening. He was now opening the blanket further, his heart in his throat, both afraid and excited to see if indeed he could see more of himself in other parts of the baby's body. Its skin was peeling off its chest, and he was about to gently place his finger on it, when somehow the baby grabbed hold of his finger. A powerful emotion shot through him. He at once felt both like crying and laughing at the same time. He still could not believe it. But the baby, the baby had long fingers, its hands looked exactly like his. He looked at its tiny feet, which was long, like his. He ran a hand across the sole of the baby's feet which instinctively curled at his touch. A dryness seized his throat, and he had to keep swallowing.

Harry looked so helpless that Hermione took pity on him. "Harry, Galina Kondesjuk left her family, her entire people to be with a man who later ended up dead. Why she felt she couldn't go back to her family, I don't know. But imagine having to live in that house all by yourself, day in, day out. It must have been extremely lonely. Or perhaps she was desperate to hold on to Garrick Rosier in whatever way she could. That, I completely understand. If she thought she had the means to bring him back — or just a part of him — it wasn't surprising what she tried to do. Obviously, she'd already stolen the Egyptian artifacts from her people when she left to follow Rosier. She just lied to Damien to not give any clue that she was hiding the victims in the house. "

Was that it? Was that the reason why he kept coming back to Galina's basement, because his subconscious remembered what happened at the Burrow between himself and Ginny? And there was Richard Mann, whose fingers were gnawed to the bone but had no memory how it happened. But obviously it did, even though he had only a partial memory of the cave.

And there was something else. Harry had yet to mention it to anyone but he thought he knew what Richard Mann was talking about, that place of mist. Because he himself had been there. That place when he had seen and talked to Dumbledore the second time Voldemort hit him with the Killing Curse. But the place presented itself differently to him. _'After all, this is your party,' _Dumbledore had said. Perhaps, the place was different to every person — or even during different occasions, reflecting the mental attitude of a person at that time.

And he thought he knew now why he and Mann both remembered that place. Because they both had been ready to die. It was as if a part of themselves had moved on into that other world. But at the Burrow, he and Ginny were not thinking of dying at all and so they both had no memory of that place.

But he remembered clearly that in that in-between world, time moved on... and he could touch Dumbledore.

"We could do a DNA test, if you like," said Hermione. "But I don't think it's necessary."

But then the baby started to mewl, demanding attention.

"I think the baby's hungry again," said Luna.

"I'll go prepare the milk," said Mrs. Weasley and hurried off to a standing tray table where they had placed the baby supplies. The Healer estimated that they had to wait two to three weeks to make sure there were no more Potion X substances in Ginny's body before she started breastfeeding the baby because she could still pass on the substances on to the baby that way.

Harry, meanwhile, wrapped the blanket back again around the baby but did so inexpertly. He was afraid the baby might catch cold even though it was always comfortably warm inside the room. Then he gently handed the baby over to Ginny, and sat close to her.

When Mrs. Weasley was finished, she hurried over to the two with the bottle. Then she and the others quietly slipped from the room, closing the door behind them, leaving the little family alone.

Harry helped Ginny settle the baby more snugly into her arms so that both she and the baby would be comfortable. Then they quietly watched as the baby drank its milk.

It was hard to take it all in. He watched Ginny's baby bump swell until she reached full term, not realizing it was his own child growing in there.

_His own child._

Harry felt like shouting and jumping all over the room like a maniac. He wanted to run outside, down the hospital corridors, all the while shouting "I'm a father! I'm a father!" And he was sure, if he cast a Patronus now, its brilliance would light up the night sky like a small sun.

He was so deliriously, ridiculously happy.

He and Ginny caught each other's eyes, and naturally leaned towards each other for a kiss.

The baby had almost finished with his milk. Ginny had to gently tug the nipple of the milk bottle from the baby's mouth because the baby didn't want to let go. Then she set aside the bottle and changed the baby's position so she could burp it. She placed it on her lap, face down, and just gently rubbed the back of her baby, making large S's on its back, like she used to do for every one of her nieces and nephews. When Ginny was finished burping the baby, she turned it over, the baby protesting again. She tried to rewrap the blanket around it, but parts of her were still sore, and in the end she didn't do a better job than Harry. She turned to him. "You want to hold him?" she asked. She did not wait for his answer and placed the baby in Harry's awkward arms. Between the two of them, they managed to settle the baby on Harry's lap without doing any damage.

He continued to look at his son and began to lightly trace every part of the baby with his fingers. Its hands were free, so the baby started sucking its knuckles. Harry laughed. It was like a bubble of sunlight was inside his chest raring to burst out of him.

"He has your nose," said Ginny.

He looked at her. "You think?"

"Luna thinks so too. But he's got dad's ears," she added as she looked at her son.

"He's got my feet as well."

"But he's got George's toes."

Harry glanced back at Ginny, amused.

"Mum always said that the only way to tell Fred from George for certain was to look at their toes. Fred had Uncle Fabian's. George has Uncle Gideon's."

Harry raised his eyebrows.

"It's true," said Ginny. "When we were little, the twins used to play this joke of one twin pulling a prank on me, and then when I confronted him, he would blame the other so I couldn't retaliate. So I learned to run after them immediately, pin them down to the ground, and remove their shoes and socks. They never tried to trick me again."

Harry laughed, and studied his son's toes again. "Hhhmm," he said.

"What?" said Ginny.

"It's just your parents gave me your Uncle Fabian's watch," said Harry. "And now your Uncle Gideon gave his toes to my son." A painful lump rose in his throat. Harry swallowed hard.

"Harry, are you okay?"

"It's like having my own Mirror of Erised. Remember, I told you about it?"

"Yes." Harry had told her what really transpired in the Underground Chambers when he saved the Philosopher's Stone from Voldemort. He also told her the first time he saw the Mirror of Erised.

Harry turned back to his son. "Then, I looked at the images of my parents, my grandparents, relatives whose names I don't even know. I only knew that they were mine because they have the same knees as I do, the same eyes, the same black hair sticking up the back." Harry took a deep breath. "And now I see them in my son." He now appreciated this miracle of life. How his long gone relatives continued to live on in him, in his son.

Not only that, he saw Ginny in the baby, too. They made this, Ginny and him. And he was grateful to her. No matter how powerful he was, he could never have accomplished this on his own.

He looked at her, remembering that day, seeing the mark of a woman physically loved on her face, remembering how jealous he'd been, not realizing it was he who put that glow on her face. Guilt assailed him now, wondering how he would ever make it up to her. By loving her surely, until their lives should end — though that might be considered hugely self-serving.

He looked back at his son. He had Ginny and now this child, a family completely his own.

Harry couldn't speak anymore, the powerful emotion welling up in him was too overwhelming it rendered him speechless. But Ginny must have understood because she leaned into him and whispered, "Don't worry, Harry. We'll make more."

Harry turned his face to her, a look of amusement on his face.

"Well, I don't know about you," she said, "but the next time I try to make a baby, I'll make sure I remember every minute of it."

~o~

"Look, I know she's in here! Look again in your stupid record books and find her name or else I'll be doing a room-by-room search of the entire hospital!" Philip was back again in the Reception Area of St. Mungo's, rudely gesticulating and pointing at the harried receptionist manning the station as he spoke.

"I told you, Mr. Rawlings, there's no record of Ginny or Ginevra Weasley or even a Ginny Prewett admitted in the hospital in the last year."

"I don't believe you! Or perhaps you're just being dense on purpose?! Look again!" demanded Philip, unmindful of the small crowd of people that had gathered around them.

"Philip Rawlings," said a lazy voice behind him.

Philip wheeled around. He'd recognize George Weasley's voice anywhere.

George was standing behind him, along with Ginny's three other brothers: Ron, Bill, and Percy.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" said George.

Philip gulped nervously. What were Ginny's brothers doing here? Didn't they have jobs?

"I heard you were looking for my sister," George said. "I wonder why."

Philip's face hardened. Not only his wealth, but his life was at stake here. He'd decided that marrying into the Weasleys, Harry Potter's adopted family, was the only way he could protect himself from the 'company'.

"I have my rights to her," he said. "If you don't produce Ginny now, first thing tomorrow morning I will file a petition in the Wizengamot that she be remanded to my custody."

"Yeah, right," said George, looking very amused.

Philip's face contorted into an uglier expression. "What, do you think I won't do it?" he cried.

"Oh, you can try, but I don't think anything will come of it."

"And why not?!"

"Just that.…" George lifted a shoulder indifferently.

Philip gritted his teeth. George was deliberately being infuriating. "Just that what?!"

But instead of answering, George turned back to his brothers. "Boys?" he said.

Bill, Ron, and Percy all crowded around Philip. It happened so fast, but suddenly Ron was pulling Philip's wand from inside his suit.

"What the hell?" cried Philip. "Give it back!" He tried to make a grab for it, but Ron threw Philip's wand carelessly over to George, who caught it easily.

And then without any warning, Philip suddenly found himself airborne. The three brothers had lifted him up all the way over their heads.

"What the hell are you doing?! Put me down! Put me down!" he screamed. By now, more people had gathered around them, and were pointing and laughing at him. Philip let loose a stream of Muggle curses against George and the brothers, but they merely laughed at him.

Then the brothers started marching Philip out of the building – with George leading the group, waving and nodding at the gathered crowd like some Muggle celebrity – through the glass barrier of the hospital, out into the Muggle street, and then into an empty parking lot at the back of the hospital. Once there, they threw Philip unceremoniously onto the ground. Philip rolled off to his feet and when he saw the state of his expensive Muggle suit, roughly brushing the dirt and dust off his clothes, let fly another round of curses at the brothers. Then he noticed the brothers, all lined up, watching him in amusement. He rounded on them with renewed bile, his breathing hard.

"I'll get you for this! You won't get away with it!" Philip said, his voice low with malice. "And you know what? I'll make sure Ginny pays for it, too. For the rest of her life." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, as if salivating at the thought.

"Will you now?" said George, his voice steely, without a trace of humor on his face.

"You know I would do it, too," said Philip, too dense to pick up the cold that crept on George's face. "And the funny thing is, you won't be able to do anything about it. Because if you hurt me, you'll be hurting Ginny, too."

"Actually, we can," said George. "And will!" Then lightning flash, he pointed Philip's own wand at him and shouted: "_Rinde Transmutare_!"

For a few seconds, nothing happened. Then slowly Philip lifted his right hand to his face, his brows creased. His skin started to change, forming bubbles, but in between furrowed lines, the rising skin twisting, hardening, becoming rough, changing into an ugly shade of gray. Then Philip frantically scrabbled at himself. He pulled off his tie, then his suit, then started ripping off his white shirt. The same changes were happening to parts of his body, forming a diagonal path of bark-like skin from his left waist to his right shoulder up to his right cheek. He stared at himself, shocked beyond belief. Then he rounded on George.

"What did you do to me?! What the fuck did you do to me?!" Philip cried.

But Bill spoke first, addressing George. "That's the best that you can do? Not very impressive, is it?"

George gave Bill a wry face. "Harry won't let me do anything more serious. But at least he taught me how to make it permanent," he said. "Now everyone will see this idiot for what he truly is: a twisted, ugly, pathetic arse of a loser."

"I'd do it differently, though," said Ron with a firm nod. "I'd cast a shrinking spell on his nuts. Yeah, that's what I'd do – and that's just for starters."

Bill leaned forward so he could look at Percy, who was standing on his far side. "How about you Perce? What would you do?"

"I think I'd like to try that spell Harry had cast when the Burrow was attacked. You know the Excoriating and Decaying Smell hex."

The three other brothers' voices rose all at the same time.

"Oh yeah, that's a good one," said Bill.

"Now why didn't I think of that?" said George.

"Let me know when you finally succeed in making Harry tell you the incantation he used," muttered Ron, a bit resentfully. He had been trying to make Harry spill it ever since that day, but no can do.

Philip was completely dumbfounded. The brothers were acting irrationally. Didn't they know he was holding Ginny's life in his hands? "Do you really want your sister to die?" he said uncomprehendingly, though he did not realize that he had spoken his thoughts aloud.

George turned back to him slowly, eyes flashing deadly. "And why would Ginny die?"

The idea made Philip braver, and he spoke with more bravado than he felt. "Because I can make it so, if I want to."

"And how will you manage to do that?" said George, eyebrows raised.

"You know how."

"No, I don't."

"Do you want me to cast the Pere Presumptive spell again?" said Philip threateningly. "Or you're just simply incapable of understanding how it works?"

"Oh, I know how it works alright," said George nonchalantly. "Don't you have to be, like, the father of the baby for the magic to work?"

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, you know, it's just we found the father of Ginny's baby," said George, shrugging. He levelled Philip a cold stare. "And what do you know, it's not you."

The expression on George's face told Philip that he was not lying. The color drained from his face.

"Who?" he said.

"You'll find out soon enough," said George. "But I can assure you, he's a better wizard than you, more intelligent than you, richer than you, handsomer –" He stopped and turned to his brothers. "What do you think? Is the father of Ginny's baby more handsome than this eejit?"

"I guess if you look at him at certain angles. But with that hair... And it's not as if he could pull off a ponytail," said Bill, smoothing back his own ponytailed hair.

"Well, a lot of women do find him quite attractive," said Percy, "but I myself don't have an opinion on the matter."

"I don't know," said Ron. "He scowls a lot," he said, scowling himself to demonstrate.

Since none offered George a definite answer, he waved them off and turned back to Philip. "Ah well, let's just say that last part's debatable."

Philip noted the flippant attitude of the brothers. "No. No. It's not real," he said. "There's no possible way. You're just joking..."

"Me, an owner of a joke shop," said George, "kid you? Now who would have thought of such a thing?"

"But how?" Philip said, his voice weak. "There was no one else."

"How else?" said George. Then the brothers looked at each other before turning back to Philip to say all at the same time: "By magic!"

And then George started hitting Philip with a Stinging Hex in the butt that sent Philip hopping and scampering away. George didn't stop casting the curse until Philip turned the corner of a building and disappeared from view.

~o~

A/N: why else do you think I won't let Bill anywhere near the Necklace? Lol.

Hippocampus – half horse, half fish

Triton – half man, half fish

also, Charlie's not here because he's used up all his leaves. lol. the rules of employment apply in the wizarding world just as they do in the Muggle world ;D


	21. Epilogue

HARRY POTTER AND THE NECKLACE OF MENAT

Epilogue

A/N: How does a Super Harry take revenge? Let me count the way(s). ;D

also, edited in response to some of the reviews (esp lija's).

It is a common fact, known to law enforcement agents worldwide, that no matter how sophisticated and wily a criminal has become — able to leave no traces, evidence of himself when committing a crime — there was always a time, especially during his amateur years, that he has left a record of himself. On this Harry relied.

He started with just the face of the wizard in Philip's memory to track down his identity and from there started to uncover one link of the criminal gang to the next. He also pursued the exposed Muggle front of the operation, by painstakingly following the money trail, cross-referencing Muggle and magical accounts. Hermione, Percy, and Bill undertook a large part of this research, aided by Bill's Gringotts insider access. Any suspicious movements of money, they scrutinized, looking for links to any of the known Illegal Potions syndicates, for the scale of the entire operation indicated an established and well–funded cartel. Harry had long ago suspected this, especially after seeing the amount of galleons in Britwhistle's flat. Magical law enforcement agencies all over the world were already familiar with these Illegal Potions cartels – and so Harry knew them as well. It was just a matter of determining which one laid out the trap for him.

The man had buried his activities, disappearing in the criminal underworld but Harry kept doggedly at his investigations, making no qualms calling up favors owed him. For once he took advantage of his name and position in the Wizarding world, seeking the help and assistance of foreign governments, especially the Americans who had years of experience dealing with these types of criminal organizations. He took care to keep his activities and inquiries off the record though – completely under the radar – lest he tipped off the cartels that he was still pursuing the case. Officially, the Ministry had declared the case closed and Harry made a show of not going to work for two weeks in apparent protest but in truth he and the brothers had already started gathering evidence. In no time, his hard work paid off and finally narrowed the culprits down to one.

Why did it not surprise him that it turned out to be the biggest, deadliest Potions cartel of them all? The one with a trail of victims in its wake – both Muggle and magical – as long as the Amazon river?

But identifying which Potions cartel was responsible simply was not enough. He then started investigating the criminal organization's structure laterally and everywhere its complicated branches led to, determined to track down, not just the key players, but all the members of its entire magical and Muggle network, including the support system – the political and police protectors, Muggle bank officials who laundered their money – everyone, down to the shrimps of the organization.

It took Harry three years – three long years – to track down the syndicate responsible for the Potion X debacle. And even as he pursued the case, he started drawing up plans, spending months studying, scouting the cartel boss's estate, which also served as the gang's headquarters, accompanied every time by a Weasley brother. He sharpened his skills as well and developed magic no one before had the capability of doing, preparing himself for the inevitable confrontation.

And now it was time.

Harry was going to face the largest, most powerful, most ruthless Illegal Potions cartel in the world, confront them right in their home base. And he was going to do it with only Bill and Charlie in tow. True, he could have easily raised enough number of wands for the operation – and not just from the immediate family. Not a few of his men had declared that they would join him if and when he decided to go after the mastermind. After the attack at the Burrow, a number of Weasley relatives had come up to them to say that should the family ever decide to seek retribution, to add their wands to the pile. Auntie Muriel was right: The Weasleys breed like gnomes, though Harry doubted these Weasley uncles and cousins knew exactly what they were volunteering their wands and lives for. Enough bits and pieces had travelled through the family grapevine however, for them to realize something was up. But Harry declined them all and allowed only Bill to accompany him, for the latter's skills and to represent Ginny's blood family, while Charlie, a decided bachelor, insisted upon coming to make up for all the years he had been away from the family. Harry wouldn't bring Ron, either. None of the family deluded themselves into thinking that what Harry was about to do was anything beyond personal vendetta. Two Aurors getting caught in an unsanctioned mission abroad would bring a slew of problems all on its own.

They arrived just as the first veil of daylight settled upon the region, Portkeying in the forested area southwest of the estate. Harry had previously marked the Portkey point: a small clearing made inaccessible by a thick ring of old, gnarly trees and choked by masses of tangled vines. Harry had already disabled the wards in just this particular spot, where there was just enough space in the middle to accommodate the three of them standing up. He did not want to alert the guards at the estate that its security had been compromised.

From there, they slowly made their way – Disillusioned and on foot – to a hill overlooking the estate, Harry disabling the wards as they went, doing just enough for them to approach nearer but not to set off the wards. It was a slow-going and extremely complicated process, for one misstep on his part and it would send the estate's Caterwauling alarms blaring. He'd even cast scent-neutralizing charms on himself, Bill, and Charlie as protection against the vicious magical creatures the cartel had placed in the jungle as further security measure.

After three quarters of an hour walking, they finally reached the top of the hill that gave them a sweeping view of the entire estate below. Harry chose this spot for just this purpose, though the wards in this area were even stronger and more powerful than in the jungle. It was like walking into a blizzard of wards. The cartel's lair sat astride two countries, and the wards had been built around the property to protect it not just from the governments of both but the cartel's rival syndicates as well. Needless to say, when it came to security, the estate was the magical equivalent of Fort Knox. By expanding the interstitial space around him, however, Harry was able to punch through a path where he, Bill, and Charlie could move without triggering the alarms. Harry then chose a spot where they would set up their base camp.

The area was so dry and barren that anybody who tried to peek down the estate from the top of the hill would be immediately seen, even at night, when lights were turned on around the estate. However, instead of a Disillusionment Charm, Harry had cast a Mirago spell around them to hide himself, Bill, and Charlie from the eyes of any outsiders. He cast the spell in reverse, however – which worked as effectively – throwing their images miles away. They could be seen, but a person could be standing right next to them and think they were several mountains away. That way he and the brothers could freely move about and do their tasks without getting in each other's way. Then they began working on the wards.

Though Bill was quite an expert on wards himself, Harry worked on them first, undoing the most difficult, trickiest ones first. He was gratified to see that no new, exotic, or unfamiliar wards had been erected since he last examined them, telling him that none of his previous incursions had been detected. The moment he undid a ward he started rebuilding it back again so that the tampering would not be detected, but he left magical backdoors for himself, Bill, and Charlie to allow themselves to pass in and out of the property without setting off the wards.

When he had dealt with the last of the most difficult wards, he left the rest to Bill and Charlie. Thereafter, Harry struck out on his own, disappearing most days after that, but first making sure that the brothers were safe at all times. Harry had given both brothers Portkey watches that just like the Burrow family clock could detect if they were in danger and would instantly activate and whisk them back to England. Harry only came back to catch a few hours of sleep and then he would set off again. He did not volunteer to tell them where he'd been or what he was doing and neither did they ask. Bill had a sneaking suspicion that Harry was operating a shade (or several) beyond the pale, but kept his mouth shut. Their very presence in this country was already illegal, who was he to judge Harry, really?

From time to time, a henchman or two would come alarmingly close to their camp, but the brothers were never seen. There were even moments of amusement when the guards would point to a spot on a nearby mountain, noticing something. Bill and Charlie guessed that the syndicate sent men to investigate, only to find air. Harry's protection spells were so airtight there was never any danger of them being discovered.

Finally, Bill and Charlie had finished with their appointed tasks. But they had to wait for two more days until Harry finally returned for the night and did not leave again a few hours later. He joined them for breakfast instead, after which he just said: "We should tidy up."

So they dismantled the tent where they had been camping in in the last several days. Then Harry handed his Invisibility Cloak over to Charlie who would serve as lookout. Harry reminded Charlie that if he and Bill were still not back by sundown, then Charlie should return at once to England alone.

"Don't come back looking for us. And tell Ginny, I'm sorry," Harry told Charlie as they shook hands while Bill clapped Charlie on the back, trying to bury his apprehension. Harry still hadn't told him what they were about to do. He could only trust that Harry knew what he was doing and wouldn't leave Fleur a widow and his children fatherless.

Charlie then swung the cloak over himself. Harry waited for him to completely disappear before removing the Mirago spell hiding them then quickly replacing it with other protective spells. Then the two started their march down the valley, breaking through the wards easily.

Harry walked calmly downhill, Bill keeping in step. Part way down, they met with a couple of the cartel's guards, idly standing under the shade of a tree, smoking cigarettes. The guards were completely astounded to see these two tall, Caucasian men marching calmly past them. These cartel henchmen were small fry, magically no match to Bill and Harry. Still, Bill glanced apprehensively at Harry, waiting for a signal. But Harry merely walked on, completely ignoring the henchmen. And only now Bill realized that the guards were not reacting normally to their presence. The guards continued to stand there, gaping at the two strangers, a cigarette hanging limply from the mouth of one. They didn't even raise their wands or sound the alarms. Without making any visible sign that he did, Harry must have already cast spells against these men though Bill wasn't too sure exactly when Harry could have done so. And then the henchmen did the most unexpected thing: they followed Harry and Bill meekly down the hill.

As they continued their descent, they encountered more of the estate's workers and guards, all reacting the same as the two earlier henchmen had done. From everywhere in the mansion, more and more of the members of the cartel were joining them. Though he hoped Harry must know what he was doing, Bill couldn't help the rivulet of sweat coursing down from his scalp to his lower back. He was so tense he was gripping his wand so tightly he just might break it in half.

Then from their vantage point halfway down the hill, Bill saw more wizards arriving – by Apparation, Portkeys, by cars and other vehicles popping out of nowhere, all converging towards the main gate of the estate. He tried to scout his memory if there had been a scheduled conference for today – for they had been monitoring the activities of the key members of the group up till he, Harry, and Charlie left for this mission – but nothing was coming to mind. He threw Harry another worried glance. But Harry didn't seem surprised or fazed by the new arrivals. He simply continued his steady descent downhill.

So he knew, Bill thought. Harry must be responsible for it.

Thus they continued their march downhill until they reached the paved grounds of the estate. They met with the new arrivals who all looked bewildered as if they themselves did not know why they were there. A few recognized Harry, judging by the stricken look on their faces but they didn't raise their wands against the two either. Harry glanced once at the newcomers then ignored them just as he did the other workers. He then led the way towards the grand double doors of the sprawling white, stucco mansion.

They reached the huge foyer, at the center of which hung a huge chandelier. Directly opposite the entrance was a grand staircase. Harry continued on and climbed up the stairs, the staircase branching off in two at the landing. Harry took the left. When they reached the second floor, he continued to trace the path, with an entire train of the syndicate's henchmen still trailing behind them, following them meekly like lambs to a slaughterhouse. They reached the end of the corridor, where there was another set of double doors open.

Harry and Bill then entered the room and positioned themselves just off to one side of the doors. They found more men inside, but like their colleagues they too just stared blankly at the two strangers.

The cartel men trailing them followed soon behind, spreading themselves across the room, all facing Bill and Harry. When the last of the men entered the room, Harry nodded to Bill who immediately closed the door as Harry took an empty seat nearby. Bill stood just behind Harry's chair, hands clasped in front of him, grasping his wand tightly, his feet at a ready stance. He glanced nervously at Harry.

_'I knew Harry has bollocks, but this is bloody insane,'_ thought Bill.

Meanwhile, the cartel members were eying each other nervously, but none seemed able to speak, let alone act. They just stood there, fully aware of everything that was happening but unable to understand the whys. Most of them recognized the black-haired, bespectacled man, and though they did not recognize Harry Potter's companion, the red hair was a giveaway. Several of the men kept glancing to another set of double doors that led to the main office further in the back of the room but Harry kept his cool...and waited.

The silence stretched on.

Rain had long ago deserted these lands, coming in spurts and the occasional temperamental outbursts. But there was a time when heat must have been necessary – or perhaps the first European magical settlers in the region thought they could adapt the Floo network here – for there was a fireplace in the room, though likely rarely, if ever, used. Letterboxes were the main form of magical communication around these parts. A golden letterbox of the stylized head of a Peruvian Vipertooth Dragon hung just above the mantel. Now the letterbox roared into life.

"Is anybody out there? Tell Amado to come in, this minute!" a voice boomed from the mouth of the dragon letterbox, speaking in the vernacular, which Harry and Bill understood perfectly. The voice was insistent, demanding, of someone used to every word, every dictate followed. But whatever spell Harry had cast was even more powerful, for none of the men in the room moved or even answered the voice.

"Elena! Rodrigo! Somebody!" the voice screamed angrily now. The cartel men fidgeted. In the past, such disobedience was punished immediately and with one's own life. Yet still no one moved.

"¡_Setenta Hijueputa!" _The voice screamed from inside the inner office followed by the sound of several things breaking.

Harry looked down and flicked a speck of dust from his jeans.

Then the door to the inner office banged wide open and a stocky, full-bearded man emerged, his wand pointing aggressively forward, ready to cast a curse at the first person unfortunate enough to draw his ire. He of all the men in the room seemed unaffected by the spell Harry had cast, for Harry wanted the man to be in full command of his powers, and still feel helpless, unable to do anything despite being surrounded by his men. But then the cartel boss's eyes caught sight of the strangers, and he stopped dead in his tracks. "Harry Potter!" He made as if to cast a curse at Harry, but then caught himself in time, probably thinking that he'd be dead before his curse even reached Harry. He would not be wrong. Instead, he looked around at his men. He grabbed the henchman nearest him by the shoulder and pushed the man forward. "What are you doing? Kill them! Kill them!" But the man only fell down to his knees, glancing up at Bill and Harry helplessly. The cartel boss grabbed at another lackey, but he got the same reaction. The boss started hitting his men with curses, trying to rouse them to fight Harry and Bill. But the spells didn't seem to have the effect he wanted – the spells simply were not connecting to his men. He kept firing spells, the effort strangling his breath. Finally, he had to stop. He looked around at the room, at his men, some of whom were the deadliest hitwizards in the criminal underworld. Now he turned his face back to Harry.

He had only ever heard about Harry Potter, but what he heard was enough to scare the living bejeezus out of him. That was why he had to immobilize the Auror.

He might be the head of the leading cartel in the region, but it only meant that others were just waiting for the opportunity to strike him down. And when he heard that a few of his rival cartels were planning to expand their operations in Europe, he knew he had to beat them to the draw. He had no choice – if he were to keep his leadership, if his group were to maintain its position in the illegal underworld. But the problem with Europe was that it was Harry Potter territory. Sure, he could have sat on his pork and waited for the bastards to self-destruct when they finally encounter Potter, but to allow such a thing to happen would be taken as a sign of weakness, even by his own men. Dangerous, in his line of work. And so he had to make a move. But he couldn't continue with his plans, not with the Auror around. And since it was believed that it was nearly impossible to kill Potter, he planned a way to at least cripple the Auror somehow, to compromise him, not to act and instead look the other way when it came to his group's activities. It was a shot in the dark, he knew. But not to have done it would have been suicide.

Then everything blew up in his face. His plan was well-thought of, intricate, to quietly snare George Weasley and then Potter into a trap. He didn't know what happened. But suddenly Potion X was big news in England. And when both Rawlings and Britwhistle disappeared, he knew the plan was a misfire. He invested hundreds of thousands of galleons in the operation, and a pittance in profits returned. But didn't he let it go? Didn't he?! He gambled against Potter… and lost. He knew when he was licked. But knew as well that none of his rivals would try to succeed where he had failed.

It should have ended there.

He did not understand. He did everything to cover his tracks, to make sure the operation could not be traced back to his group, all his men working on the plan heavily disguised and Polyjuiced. How did Potter manage to pin it down to him? And even given that, he had people in his country's Magical Ministry that would inform him if Harry Potter was in the region. He had spared no expense in making sure that his estate was impregnable to outsiders. And yet here Potter was – his living nightmare sat in front of him, staring calmly back at him.

"You should have known this day would come," said Harry in the vernacular, his voice deathly cold.

"What are you talking about?!" The syndicate's boss decided to play dumb.

But Harry ignored his protestations of innocence. "What did you think? That I will not come after you?"

"Mr. Potter, I don't know what you've heard or what tales my enemies have been blathering in your ears, but I assure you, you have no reason to be here."

But Harry had long ago stopped giving the words of a venomous snake much credence. "Everything is just money with you, isn't it?" he addressed the room in general. "You don't care how many people you hurt, or even kill, as long as you earn obscene amounts of money for yourselves. And what do you use it for?" He let his eyes scour the room, his lips curling at the ostentatious and wasteful excesses – the gilt-edged furniture and ornaments, the cartel member's gold jewelry, at the wands in their hands, their wand grips encrusted with gold and diamond inlays, women whose bodies they bought, or more often, beat into submission. Then he thought of Mr. Weasley, putting an ad in the Daily Prophet, trying to sell his prized collection of Muggle batteries because a school term was about to begin. Of Mrs. Weasley, slaving in the back garden of the Burrow, trying to grow enough food to feed her family. Remus, in his patched and inexpertly mended robes. Ron, standing in the Gryffindor stairs leading to the boys' rooms, his pajamas a couple of inches short…. And Tom Riddle, his voice mocking: "_Little Ginny's been writing in it for months and months, telling me all her pitiful worries and woes: ... how she had to come to school with second-hand robes and books _–"

They too could have used magic to make their lives a lot easier, more comfortable, but chose to do the right thing instead.

Poverty is never an excuse.

And Harry remembered Corinne, whose boyfriend never did recover from his coma, and died a year later. Corinne subsequently retired from Quidditch and never made contact with any of her colleagues again. Harry remembered too the pregnant Harpies patients who had died. Remembered Angela Smyth-Bothamley. And his anger, which had never really been doused in all these years, blazed anew with righteous heat. His anger over what happened to Ginny, however, he could not articulate, not in front of these men. That part of him was private, sacred, he wouldn't sully with these low-lifes.

"People are dead. People's lives forever destroyed…. People-I-Know," said Harry, his voice ringing in the silence-stiffed air. "Who then should I blame for their deaths?"

There was a chill in the room and the men felt terror like they had never felt before. They could taste in the air, a suffocating sense of dread — for Harry did not come here to fight, but to mete justice. He looked at each and every member of the cartel as he delivered his malediction.

"Because of you, your greed, your laziness, people are dead. From now on, you will no longer be able to use magic nor kill or even hurt or threaten anyone. You can only eat what you yourselves have worked hard – working your fingers to the bone – to work for. All the days of your lives you will never know anything but hard work and misery, and will never find prosperity no matter what you do. All your ill-gotten wealth you will lose, everything – not a single knut or Muggle cent will be left to you. And if you try to get money by force or by stealing, know that nothing will come of it. Food will rot before your very eyes if you ever try to get money through dishonest means." Harry looked intently at every man in the room, binding their magic, placing the curse on each one of them. Was he abusing his powers? Was he doing the right thing? He had long ago skirted around the issue in his mind. He was just grateful that he somehow managed to rein in his anger, that so far he hadn't spilled a single drop of blood even though every cartel man in the room had blood in his. Harry continued to sweep the room with his eyes, cold, implacable, sealing his final curse. "And this curse will be passed on to your children and your children's children." He stood up and spoke one last time. "Be thankful that this is all I've decided to do." He turned to Bill, grabbed him by the shoulder and, in a flash, they were gone.

They appeared back at the hill from where they originally set off.

"That is one bloody exit!" Bill exclaimed, as they reappeared in their meeting spot with Charlie. He goggled at Harry, his self-possession deserting him to be replaced with disbelief and creeping fear. "Is it true what you said back there? About them not being able to use magic anymore?"

Harry shrugged.

"_All _of them?" Bill said, more aghast than awed. The extent of Harry's curse! That one wizard could do that!

A bird's call whistled in the air, and Bill had to swallow his astonishment – for Harry had delivered quite a doozy – before he could answer with the appropriate whistle back. Charlie then materialized out of thin air a few feet from them.

"What happened?" said Charlie.

But Bill was already palpating the estate's ward shield, and felt it crumbling under his expert fingers. And now yellowed, transparent patches of air began to appear along the dome of the shield, as the magic holding it up began to disintegrate. Bill was still marveling at this demonstration of Harry's magical power – which he had seldom seen – when he felt Harry kneel down beside him. He glanced down to see Harry scooping a handful of dry earth in his hands. Harry then closed his hand over it lightly, but when he opened it again, the soil had completely turned to dust. He brought his fist closer to his mouth, whispered something into it only he could hear. Then he stood straight up, pulled his arm back, then cast the fistful of dust into the air. But instead of dropping back to earth, the wind caught it. The dust cloud seemed to swell in size and number, darkening a patch of the sky, riding the air, moving as if with intelligence, like a murmuration of starlings. Harry, Bill, and Charlie stood looking up at the dust granules as they sailed, defied the wind. And when it reached some twenty meters up the sky, the dirt broke into four sections, each section sailing off into a different direction: north, south, east, west — each and every tiny grain of dust carrying with it a payload of Harry's curse.

In the days, weeks, months, years to come, a pall of plague would seem to descend upon the region. Not a week would pass when rumors started filtering back to England of how the cartel's mansion had been mysteriously razed to the ground, the syndicate's gold in Gringotts melted into unusable, black molten lumps, the jewelery and other valuables stored there similarly destroyed. Acres and acres of the syndicate's lands would soon be plagued – and repeatedly – first by rats, then drought, or sometimes by storms that would sit for days, flooding the farms. Most mysterious of all, no plant seemed ever to grow in the syndicate's lands again, even after someone thought of removing the topsoil and replacing it with soil from other parts of the region. Years, decades, centuries would pass, and yet the said lands would never be able to grow any type of plant again. Thus, they became known as _Las Islas de Malditas_, the Cursed Lands.

But the cartel's misfortunes did not end there. Everywhere the cartel's money had been channeled into, every property, stock bought, company invested in, everything went up in smoke – sometimes literally – soon after Harry's visit, exactly as he vowed. Its Muggle and magical protectors would fall into similar straits, losing their jobs, falling ill, or previous crimes they thought they had long buried coming suddenly out in the open, and many were given prison sentences. A year and a half after that fateful day, the syndicate's leader would be found dead near a Muggle dumpster, having died of starvation. It would take his magical Ministry days to realize that he had died, for he had become unrecognizable. He seemed to have greatly aged, and became extremely emaciated, with most of his teeth missing.

In the wizarding world, no illegal potions cartel ever tried to pick up where the syndicate left off. Whispers went around of how the cartel met its end though nobody could prove it. Nobody had seen Harry Potter ever having visited the country. Still the rumor persisted. And since then, nobody ever tried to smuggle illegal potions into England again – or anywhere remotely near it.

Harry, Bill, and Charlie watched the dust clouds fly until they couldn't see a single speck anymore. Then Charlie pulled something from inside his robes. He turned to Harry.

"I know you gave me a Portkey to use, but Hermione thought this would be better," said Charlie. He showed Harry a picture frame that had a photo of Harry and the now expanded Weasley family, including Harry's son, James, and a heavily pregnant Ginny.

"Let's go home," said Bill. Then they all placed their fingers on the Portkey.

~o~

Ginny sat under a tree, piles of letters on her lap. She took out a card Nicholas Bothamley and David Wiggins had just sent her and Harry from Hogwarts. Their lives having both been touched by Harry, the two had become fast friends when they met at Hogwarts - David resuming his first year study. And now they frequently sent Harry and Ginny letters from school, and sometimes boxes of Honeyduke's sweets for James. Fortunately for her son's teeth, James had plenty of cousins and had Ron for an uncle, so Ginny didn't feel guilty giving them to her son. The card also had a picture of Jessica in it, looking shyly at her. Ginny never met the tiddly tyrant Jessica was supposed to be. Though she wasn't there when Harry showed his magical tent to the kids - she was still pregnant with James at that time - Harry did bring her and their son to the Smyths' bed and breakfast inn a year after she had given birth where she met an extremely shy and quiet Jessica instead. Jessica's grandmother would later inform Ginny that Jessica had always declared that she wanted to be like Ginny Weasley when she grew up and apparently Ginny intimidated the young girl where Harry could not. But ever since then, they made regular visits to the inn. They were often accompanied by other members of the family, Martin Smyth finally meeting a wizard he genuinely liked, hitting it off with her dad who had just recently discovered the joys of Muggle caravaning.

Ginny glanced up, at the vast estate grounds, where James was playing with his cousins. The entire family arrived here ten days ago, visiting Sylvie and her son. There was more than enough room for them, for Sylvie lived in a castle that had been in her family for generations.

Ginny's mum was just across from her, but on the other side of the massive lawn, talking with a couple of witches from the village. She knew that her mum was comparing home remedies with them, ancient Viking magic were still heavily practiced around these parts. Her other brothers and their wives were on the grounds as well, but Ginny just couldn't help keeping an eye on James. Her son was turning out to be quite a handful. She placed a gentle hand on her five-month pregnancy bump, silently entreating her next child to please, please have the disposition of a saint – or a statue, whichever was quieter.

Or better yet, to just be like its dad.

_Harry_. Ginny wondered where he could possibly be right now or what he was doing. It must be particularly dangerous for him to deposit the entire family – including Andromeda and Teddy – in Sylvie's estate. The fact that Volga magic was actively practiced around these parts, and seldom everywhere else, meant it had wards quite difficult to breach. And she was sure Harry added a few of his own just before he and Bill left. He had been going on these trips with her brothers for years now. And though she didn't know exactly where, Ginny had a shrewd idea. She refused to entertain the thought, however, because it would only make her angry. And she didn't want to be angry with Harry for doing something he felt he must do. With a baby on the way, Harry wouldn't risk doing something that he knew wasn't a sure thing. Or so she hoped.

He married her, three weeks after James was born, in the small chapel in Godric's Hollow where his parents also had their wedding, attended only by their family and their closest of friends, the wizarding world waking up to read a small announcement about it in the Quibbler the next day, which also came with the news of the birth of their son, James Sirius Potter. Friends and former colleagues at Harpies would later tell her of first, the confusion (for there was never any report of the two ever dating), then the jubilation of the wizarding public after both the Harpies management and the Auror Department confirmed the news. They said it was very similar to the celebration following Voldemort's first downfall. But she never saw any of it. Harry had whisked her and James off to a private chateau in France (very near a large wizarding hospital) immediately after the ceremony. It could not be called a proper honeymoon though, for they were accompanied by her parents and frequently joined by the rest of the family. Exactly a year later, Harry would marry her in a much more formal, larger wedding ceremony, still in the same chapel, James acting as their much distracted, disruptive, attention-grabbing ring bearer. This time too Ginny would get the honeymoon she wanted, Harry taking her to the Alps, then New Zealand and Japan — without James (for which privacy they would later pay for with weeks of James's major league sulkiness).*

They still could not remember what happened that morning at the Burrow, the day she got pregnant. But Harry believed that the image that rose in Ginny's mind of her kissing his Adam's apple was a partial memory. They figured the reason she regained a bit of the memory was because she was holding tightly to the Necklace at the time. But almost every night since they first slept together, Ginny tried to show him what she had seen, tried to recreate it. Needless to say, she was quite enthusiastic about it. _Very_.

Unconsciously, Ginny placed her hand on her chest where the necklace used to hang, as if expecting it to still be there. But it was long gone, a year after she had given birth in fact, when there was no longer any danger of her suffering from any post-pregnancy problems. After consulting with Kingsley, Harry decided to turn over the Necklace to the Vatican, not only as a thank you for warning him and giving him the ability to see the Romas and their hexes, but because he honestly thought that the Necklace would be safest with the Vatican wizards. Harry could have deposited it at the Department of Mysteries but he knew from experience that he could not always trust that the Necklace would remain safe there: Governments can change, people can not always be trusted, etc. Besides, it would remove the danger the Necklace staying in Britain posed. He didn't want to give the Romas any reason to come back to England and try to get the Necklace anew. Harry also suspected that the Vatican had more 'interesting' magical treasures in its keeping that no one knew existed, ones that were even more powerful than the Menat necklace, so he figured he could trust them. He could have donated it to Gringotts, or even return the artifacts to the Romas but he'd have to strip it of its powers which he wasn't sure was a good thing to do, after all it gave him James and saved Ginny's life. Harry thought that it might save someone else's life someday.

Ginny looked down at the papers in her hand once again and took out the letter Baba had written to Harry before she died. Ginny ran her eyes once again to the translated words, showing red under the Serbian letters, concentrating on one particular passage:

'_I know you think that your second life and your powers are all the reward you would get for all your hardships and sacrifice, even though they mean the least to you. You do not think that you deserve the one your heart wants the most, but you're wrong. There is love waiting for you yet, Mr. Potter. And it will be with the one you truly want. I don't know who she is, I only see a woman with flaming hair...'_

There was more but Ginny's eyes had already begun to tear, as they often did whenever she read Baba's letter, for there it was: Baba had clearly seen it in Harry's future, _her_, only, always, in his life.

They could never find proof that she went directly home after she left the party, but Harry did find out who Philip actually slept with that night. Several CCTV cameras from the houses and establishments near Philip's townhouse recorded him walking with a Muggle woman along his street. The same cameras recorded her leaving alone a few hours later. When Harry spoke to the girl, she said she met Philip somewhere but couldn't remember exactly where. Harry discovered Philip Confunded her so she wouldn't have a memory of entering a magical house – so much for his house being Fideliused. The Muggle woman had no Potion X inside her system, and except for a few, her memory of that night was largely intact. And what remained of it more than proved that she was the woman Philip had brought to his flat. And that she had been with him an hour before Ginny left the party.

But what mattered most was that James was truly Harry's son, and just to dispel any doubt that he was, Hermione suggested that Harry and James take a DNA test, using samples of their hair. The MoM's Forensics division had to "wash" Harry's hair several times and took the team numerous tries before they finally succeeded in removing all traces of magic from Harry's hair.

It wasn't important to Harry and Ginny. Not really. And would have done away with the test, too. But days after Ginny had given birth, Philip's parents tried to file a claim on Ginny's baby. Only with incontrovertible proof that Harry was truly James's father could they silence the Rawlings couple. Up to the last, the Rawlings did not realize that they were walking on thin ice. They should be thankful though that Harry was so deliriously happy in those days that he did not pay much attention to them.

It had been years, and he and Ginny continued to be deliriously happy.

Ginny instinctively turned her head to her left and there her husband was, staidly walking towards her. _He's back_. Ginny gave a sigh of relief. A pair of small arms were wrapped around his neck, tiny feet dangling in both his arms, but Ginny couldn't see the small person Harry was piggybacking on his back. She didn't need to. They had played this game numerous times before.

She beamed up at her husband but stayed sitting down. "Harry, have you seen James?" she called as he approached.

She heard a giggle behind Harry's back.

"I haven't. Why? Is he missing again?" said Harry, his eyes twinkling.

"Harry, do you think he's run away?"

"I don't know, Ginny. But James is really powerful. Perhaps he has learned to Apparate to Diagon Alley."

More giggles, but Ginny scowled at her husband. She didn't want Harry giving James any ideas.

"Jaaaaames!"

Sylvie's son, Patrick, came toddling towards them on his short legs, Sylvie close behind.

"C'mon! Let's play!" said Patrick. "Teddy and _Ferdy _want to play _kicket_!"

James immediately forgot all about the game he was playing with his parents and quickly wriggled down Harry's back. Joining Patrick, the two boys ran towards the field. The three adults could only helplessly watch.

"I dread the day those two enter Hogwarts," said Sylvie. "And with Freddie to boot," she added, with a remorseful shake of her head.

"But Teddy will be there. He'll keep them in check," said Harry, trying to sound optimistic.

Ginny and Sylvie caught each other's eyes then studiously looked away.

"What?" said Harry, indignant.

"Nothing," said Sylvie. "We can only hope." She turned to Harry. "So you're back. I don't know how Ginny put up with it, always disappearing, constantly in danger..."

"Well, he does have his uses," said Ginny, looking her husband up and down in such a way that Harry's face reddened.

"Ugh! Ginny! Not you too!" cried Sylvie with a grimace. "As if we don't already have enough of that with Ron and Hermione...Speaking of which, " added Sylvie, as she remembered something, her face forming into a scowl, "will you please tell Ron and his wife that before they lock the door to any room in this house to make sure that no one is inside with them, including house-elves?"

"Why? What have they done now?" asked Ginny curiously.

"They asked to see the armory and then thought of locking themselves in. Well, one of my house-elves happened to be in the room at the time, cleaning, and whom, apparently, they didn't see. For some reason –" Here she threw Harry a reproachful glance because she knew it would be a spell Harry taught the two. "my house-elf couldn't Apparate from the room. Can you imagine the trauma that poor thing suffered? I swear I'll never hear the words 'My King! My King!' again and not shudder!"

"Why are you telling me? I'm not their best-friend," said Ginny, trying to keep a straight face.

"But Ron's your brother," Sylvie pointed out.

"Ugh," said Ginny, making a face. "Please don't remind me."

"Uhm, they're newlyweds," interjected Harry, trying to come up with some kind of excuse for his friends. Before he left, he specifically asked Ron and Hermione to behave.

"What newlyweds? They've been at it since after the war!" said Sylvie, avoiding looking at Ginny, whose face had gone tomato red from the effort of keeping her laughter in. "I don't know how you put up with it all those years! It's like living with a pair of human rabbits!"

"Ehrm," said Harry, scratching the back of his neck.

The look on Harry's face though broke Ginny. She started laughing, soon joined by Sylvie. But their laughter was echoed by tinnier ones coming from the grounds, which always was a bad sign. Harry turned his eyes towards the field, squinting his eyes for a better look. Then he frowned. "Are they using gnomes as pocks?" he asked, horrified.

Ginny and Sylvie followed Harry's gaze. True enough, James, Freddie, and Patrick were squealing their heads off as they sent a gnome flying through the air.

"Oh no, not again!" said Sylvie, already running toward the field. "It's okay. I've got it!" she shouted back to Harry and Ginny.

Harry and Ginny exchanged glances, and smiled at each other despite themselves. Harry walked up to her, and sat himself on the ground beside her. He turned to her slightly and scooped her easily off the ground, then placed her gently in between his legs. Ginny leaned back into him, and his arms automatically wrapped around her, resting his hands on her distended belly. They always sat like this, Ginny safely cocooned in Harry's arms.

She didn't ask him where he'd been or what he had been doing. Instead, she turned her head to bring her face closer to his so he could kiss her. He obliged, naturally, giving her a soft, lingering kiss. Then they both turned their faces back to the field where now the children were playing tag. They looked on in contentment at the children, smiling as a child broke out into peals of laughter. There were other eyes looking after the kids and Harry and Ginny took the chance to steal a small amount of sleep that – as all parents of babies and toddlers all over the world knew unfortunately well – took all of twenty-three seconds.

_Fin_

A/N: Finally! Sorry for the long delay, but thanks continuing to read. Thank you as well to all who reviewed. Shoutouts go esp to Lija, whose reviews I always look forward to, and to the reviewer over at siye where I first posted my ffs who called my attention to my problems with tenses. I really appreciate it even tho i still struggle with them among other grammatical problems.:)

*Harry would marry her...taking her...etc — I meant these were Harry's gifts for Ginny.

Also, kingsley's house is an actual house. I fell in love with it and the architect's other underground house, first time I saw them online. It's name is Snowden House. Just had to include it.

i also left out the part where harry went to galina's people alone and removed the excoriation and decaying smell hex he cast on galina's brother. but even i was uncertain whether harry's anger would die down enough for him to do it. ;D

also, I've been heavily reediting this fic, hoping to catch the grammar mistakes. I meant to reedit chapter 6, esp the reaction to the date-rape drug, but thinking about it, I was reminded of my original intentions on the chap. the 180° turn, the humor, and the downplay were red herrings. so the chapter stays as it is.


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